


What To Expect When You're Expecting Your Clone

by owlbsurfinbird



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: AU, C-Section, Christmas, Fear of harm to infant/partner, First Time, Fluff and Humor, Hathaway's Clone, Hurt/Comfort, Lewis Secret Santa 2014, M/M, Male pregnancy (not omegaverse), Pregnancy Triggers (see notes), Pregnant Hathaway, Preparing for Baby, cloning, graphic birth, romantic fantasy, sweet and funny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-05 04:16:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3105341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlbsurfinbird/pseuds/owlbsurfinbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone—somewhere--was smoking. James Hathaway inhaled deeply and then coughed. <em>Bad for the baby,</em> he reminded himself. He caught his reflection in the Waterstones window—looked like a proper portly gentlemen. <em>Mid-thirties, unmarried, pregnant. Scandalous.</em> He smiled slightly.</p><p>He had never been happier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Months One and Two

**Author's Note:**

  * For [loves_books](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loves_books/gifts).



> Many heartfelt thanks for the wonderful beta work by Atrops_Lee and Dryad. I tinkered with the story since they read it--mistakes are mine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This is not an omegaverse fic.**   
>  **Many pregnancy triggers: read the notes below.**

**Months One and Two**

**This is an exciting time! Your body is adapting to a living duplicate of YOU! The aftereffects of implantation—hormones, cellular components and their supporting structures, uterus, fertilized embryo—are all safely in the past now! You may feel a little queasy, so take it easy while your body adjusts. Time to start knitting those adorable booties! No need to worry about what color the baby will like—the baby is YOU! You know what you like!**

"Can tell you hate this." Robbie set the small empty plastic rubbish bin beside the couch. He raised an inquiring eyebrow at the blanket, legs, and sprawl that presented itself

James moved his long legs from the couch and folded them to his chest, wedging himself into a corner to make room on the couch for Robbie. He felt sweaty, listless, his gut ached. Wiped out from nausea, he tugged the blanket to cover his knees. "I can't read. Can't eat—" He felt his gorge rising.

"—Don’t!"

James pitched forward and threw up into the bin. He hovered above it, spitting. "Fuck."

Robbie handed James a damp paper towel from a stack on the coffee table before sitting on the other end of the couch. “I'll give your stomach time to settle before I--,” he gestured weakly at the container, “—empty that again.”

“I can handle this. You can tell Laura that you checked in and I’m fine.”

Robbie rubbed his chin, the corner of his mouth turning down. "Been out for over a week."

James crossed his arms over his knees. "It's a holiday," he said, darkly. "All fun and games."

"Can see that." Robbie cocked his head. His eyes moved with deliberate slowness over the stack of books on the coffee table before meeting James' eyes. "Light reading. Ethical Dilemmas in Human Cloning." He picked one up, flipping through the pages. "This one had me on the edge of my seat: Who's Afraid of Human Cloning? and Somatic-cell Nuclear Transfer Versus Pluripotent Stem Cell Transfer: Cost Benefit Analysis and Outcomes. Bit outdated, that."

James' eyes narrowed. "You've taken up genomics research in retirement?"

Robbie pursed his lips. "Maybe I'm planning to grow bigger carrots." He continued flipping through the book. Frowned at a page and then looked at James. "And you? This?"

"I have plans." James hated that his voice sounded weak. He stared pointedly at the overnight bag sitting beside his front door and raised an inquiring eyebrow.

"Are these them?" Robbie turned the book and opened and extended page showing the skeletal schematic of the internal growth of the gestational sac for male cloning.

James settled into a slouch, too miserable to feel anything more than a little defensive. "Why are you here?"

"Heard you were having fun without me. Could use some fun." Robbie gave a tiny resigned sigh, setting the book down.

“What?” The sigh caught his attention, but it was the sad frown that pulled him from his misery. James unfolded himself, swinging his legs off the couch nearly knocking over the bin. “What's the matter?” He almost laughed that his immediate reaction was to protect Robbie. As if the man needed him for anything. As if he could help, given his present state.

Robbie picked up the television remote, turning it this way and that. "Sometimes wish these worked in real life."

"And if they did?"

"Rewind. Would've paid more attention to what was on. Maybe wouldn't have been so quick—ah, hell. I'm no good at analogies." He sat back on the couch, pressed his lips together and regarded James. "Laura and I. And I'm to say it was mutual."

"And was it—mutual?"

Robbie cocked his head, disbelieving. "I was a little slow to realize it, but yeah. Thing is, the first time we held hands, she said, 'We're not in step.' Kept trying to be more than friends. Get in step."

James took a deep breath, recalling Laura's voice greeting them as they entered a crime scene: 'Hi, boys. Always marching together despite the lack of uniforms.'

Robbie gestured with the remote dismissively, and thumbed the television power button, but nothing happened. "It’s not working."

"The remote or the relationship?"

"Both." Robbie leaned back against the cushion, not looking at James. "Let's leave it at that. Just thought you should know." He rubbed his mouth. "She thought you might need some help. Gave me a good talking to about this." Robbie waved a hand over the table. "If you want to have a baby, then you should have a baby. Told me I was being a fool to make an issue of it."

James swallowed hard. He thought Laura supported him—they had talked about this endlessly, it seemed. This was a catastrophe.

“See, I don't think you should do this alone." Robbie said in a matter-of-fact tone. He set the remote aside. "And she doesn’t think you should do it at all. She’s worried about the long term effects on your health. We both are.”

“All the more reason to have a replacement, don’t you think?” James quipped, feeling bitterness at the back of his throat, mind still reeling that Robbie and Laura were no longer a couple. "I'm doing this because I want to."

Robbie settled against the other end of the couch. “Are you having a baby? Or spare parts?”

James shot him a look, because that was the problem, wasn’t it? If he was only doing this for ‘spare parts’ no one would give it a second thought. It was expected now that the option was covered by insurance for those in dangerous occupations. Bank some cloned tissue if you were a copper or a fire fighter to cover catastrophic injury.

But the idea that he might actually want a child? Unthinkable.

“I passed the psychological screening for both options." James bent to pick up the bin, eased himself slowly off the couch and carried it down the hall into the bathroom. He came back to the living room exhausted. He wasn't sure if it was the effort getting up or the effort of going against Robbie.

"Having cloned tissue makes sense," he managed.

“You’re not doing that. I know you.”

“I started to." Hathaway sat forward. He thought of the past week, heaving until his back ached and wrestling with his thoughts. "Now, I don’t know. I’ve got another week or so to decide."

"It’s a baby."

"You're very confident, given that it's not your body." Hathaway crossed his arms protectively across his belly. He’d attempted carrying a clone the year before, but no one had known.

It had been one of his first duties as a new inspector. A box to be ticked. Bank cloned tissue. Everyone signed up.

He was surprised when he was notified that based on his test results he would be allowed to carry a clone to term if he wished. A congratulatory package of materials appeared on his doorstep, including a copy of What to Expect When You're Expecting Your Clone and a yellow baby shirt that exclaimed: "I'm YOU!"

Improvements in technology had made the vast majority of clone pregnancies uneventful. He was stunned by his reaction when the implant failed. Somehow—in his mind—he **caused** it to fail. Logically it shouldn't matter if a few implanted cells weren't viable enough to continue. Or if he chose to terminate. It was his body, after all, and his right to choose. The literature suggested he shouldn't even care since he could get pregnant again. And again. And again. But the fact that the choice was taken from him was devastating. Was it something he ate? Did he somehow jar it loose while chasing a suspect? Was it from drinking tonic water instead of beer? Stress? The alignment of planets? He kept wondering what he did wrong.

And he wondered why it affected him so profoundly.

He wondered why he kept the tiny yellow shirt tucked in his sock drawer, visible on a daily basis, a constant reminder of his failure.

So maybe the desire to try again was Robbie's fault. Maybe it was seeing Robbie and Laura settled. Happy. Well, mostly happy. Because Robbie longed to be with his family. Grandson Jack was into the stage where being with Granddad wasn't the thrill it once was. The days of paddling that canoe were long past. And Robbie wasn't shy about telling Lyn he was hoping for another grandchild. Laura had cautioned him more than once, but he persisted in needling his daughter.

Robbie persisted, too, in advising James to 'find someone' because he said he couldn't bear to see James alone in the world with no one to look after him.

_"I have you," James had said dryly._

_"Right. But when I'm gone, who will be there for you then?" Robbie's mouth turned down._

_"You'll never leave me." James smirked, first trying to make a joke and then trying to ignore the way Robbie accepted this statement as a fundamental truth._

_"Not willingly." Robbie shot him a look. "You shouldn't be alone, James."_

James had been convinced of wedding bells in the near future for Robbie and Laura. He'd been happy for them. But for him, it was as if the sound of some secret hope had faded in the distance, silenced forever.

Robbie was right. He shouldn't be alone. Had never wanted to be alone, if he was honest with himself.

And it struck him that if he had a baby, he'd have Robbie and Laura, too. He'd have a family.

It was a romantic cliché, getting pregnant to nab the man of your dreams.

Except that he wanted to be pregnant. And the man of his dreams was already taken.

So he'd have a baby.

It would solve his problem of being alone. As the adverts said, "If you have a clone, you're never alone." First he looked into adoption only to be dismissed because he had no partner. The more he thought about having a partner—other than Robbie—the more he thought of having a clone.

Having a surrogate grandchild would make Robbie happy; he'd certainly think twice about leaving Oxford if there was a little Hathaway to bounce on his knee. If Robbie was happy, then Laura would be happy because they wouldn't have to move to Manchester.

It had all the makings of a perfect solution except for one small problem.

He'd have to have that baby.

He liked children. Always had. And he was good with them, too, especially teens. Robbie had once joked that he was good with children because he was a child once himself. Did that make him childlike or childish? Most of the time he naively believed that people were fundamentally good or that truth and justice would prevail. Sometimes he surprised himself with his immaturity—desiring to pound a suspect in the interview room or discounting a young suspect because they shared the same taste in graphic novels.

Because he was destined for the priesthood, though, he'd never given any thought to having children of his own. It wasn't prudent to show too much interest in kids as a single young man, he'd found.

The more he thought about having a child of his own, the more he noticed children around him.

Everywhere he looked—babies. Sweet faced, sticky fingered, drooling babies. Wide eyes, toothless grins, baby hands, tiny feet. Chubby cheeks and dimpled knees. Oh, and that moment before they started to wail--pouty mouths and devastated eyes raw with need-- it was all he could do not to pick up and comfort a stranger’s child. He made a point of smiling at them to see if they smiled back. And they did. It was the sweetest communication imaginable—acceptance without reservation, conditions, or judgment.

He took some time and arranged for the implant. Confided to Hooper while pouring coffee, confident that within the hour everyone in the station would know he was banking tissue as part of the insurance plan.

No one's business if he decided to quietly miss his 'tissue deposit' date. And the next available date. And the next. He'd been busy. He'd been on a case. He had Things To Do.

He'd been at Waterstones looking at children's books.

So James--eight weeks in—was having a baby. His baby. All on his own. It was a miracle.

Like seeing the man sitting next to him 'for the duration' was a miracle.

James hadn’t moved from the couch except to vomit, drink water, and vomit some more. Morning sickness was a misnomer—it lasted all day. He was heaving so hard at times that his ribs ached. Smells set him off, sounds made his ears ring. These were good signs, his doctor insisted. It meant the embryo had attached successfully to the womb-like superstructure implanted weeks before.

 _Helluva way to celebrate,_ James thought as he threw up, feeling sorry for himself. Obviously he was hormonal—it was in the packet. He felt pathetic and weak as a kitten. Speaking of which—

"You brought Monty for a visit?"

Robbie stroked the cat where he settled between them. "He goes where I go."

"Thought that was me."

"The two of you."

"Laura did not make you leave."

"Daft sod, of course she didn't make me leave." Robbie picked up the remote again and handed it to James. “Came of my own accord. His carrier's on the porch. Thought if you didn't want me here, I could go to a hotel. But I can't take my cat."

"You're not going anywhere."

"Thanks, man. Watch some telly. I’ll lay in some weak tea and biscuits.”

James shook his head slightly, taking in the solid presence of the man sitting on the other end of his couch. 

Robbie sighed. Glanced at the floor, and admitted, "Laura told me to come. Ran into Jean Innocent and she told me to come. But it was your bloody sergeant that forced me to come over here."

"Lizzie misses me?" James said incredulously.

"Ah, hell no. She wants to make sure you stay at home. 'I've got it all under control. Tell him to take his time.' You need better control of your sergeant."

"Well, you would know." James lay back against the cushions. He tapped the remote on his thigh absently. Couldn't think of a single relevant thing to say.

"Nothing clever comes to mind?" Robbie put his hand on James' shoulder, startling the cat, who jumped to the floor.

 _Damn the man for reading my mind._ James gave him a speculative look, but said nothing, afraid that if he opened his mouth he'd either throw up or say something to drive Robbie away.

“Right. Maybe I'll get something herbal for breakfast.”

“I can’t eat breakfast.”

“Maybe you can’t, but I can.” Robbie got off the couch. “Here for the duration, man. The world needs more Hathaways.”

James gave him a soft half-smile and scooped up the cat.

+++++

Robbie bustled back into the Hathaway’s flat, juggling shopping bags. "Thought you could do with some cheering up," he called from the kitchen.

Hathaway snuffled— _what was that smell?_ \--opening bleary eyes to focus on the flowers that Robbie was holding.

“Shit,” gulped James, spattering vomit all over the flowers, the coffee table, and Robbie.

++

“That might have gone better,” Robbie admitted.

“Don’t see how,” James groused. “Unless I was supposed to vomit and then swoon.” He sat on the edge of his bed, freshly showered, wearing a clean t-shirt and soft running shorts. Utterly miserable.

“Drink your tea.”

James stared at the man. “Tea? I’m just going to throw it up. All I do is sweat and hurl. This is my last clean t-shirt.”

“Thought you slept in the nude.” Robbie dragged out the last word and pursed his lips in mock disapproval.

James snorted and settled back against the pillows piled high at head of the bed. He picked up the tea, passing the mug beneath his nose to catch the scent. “Ginger tea,” he said, wonderingly. “My aunt loved ginger tea." He gazed up at Robbie, “Said it settled her stomach.” The corner of his mouth curled up. “Cheers.” He set the cup on the nightstand. “I’m fine. All tucked in. Go home. Laura’s probably worried. Monty can keep me company.”

Robbie sat on the edge of the bed. "Thought I'd kip in your spare room, in case you need me. I made up the fold-away while you were in the shower. I'll just stay till you're feeling better."

The scent of the tea in the close quarters of the bedroom brought back a sudden, intense recollection of his aunt and his mother, having tea while he sat on the floor between them their chairs, playing with blocks.

_Tea and companionship._

_Odd, that. Didn't usually think of his family. Never anything positive, at any rate._  


Robbie rubbed the back of his neck and stretched. “Can’t say it hasn’t been a day. It has.” He stifled a yawn. “Between you and the murder case we caught—“

“—A murder?” James said, picking up his cup and sipping his tea.

Robbie had sponged the worst of the vomit off his trousers and shoes, and was letting his clothes dry in the bath. He was wearing a pair of Hathaway’s track bottoms that dragged on the floor and an old concert t-shirt. “Think I could do with a shower?”

“No. What case?”

“Would it bother you if I had one of the beers I bought?” Robbie left the bedroom.

“Yeah, since I can’t drink one too.” James called after him. “What case?”

Robbie returned with a beer in one hand and plain buttered toast on a plate in the other. The toast was cut into triangles. “Just a bite. And I’ll tell you about the case.” He sat up against the headboard beside James.

Monty jumped onto the bed to nose the plate.

James eyed the toast, dubious. "I'll throw up again."

Robbie smiled slightly, offering the plate and shooing the cat to the end of the bed. “Savor my culinary expertise before you do.”

"Hand me the bin." James set the bin next to the bin. He took a sandwich triangle, nibbled tentatively. “The case, Robbie. Tell me about the case.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Additional spoilery warnings:**
> 
> **No one dies in this story.** No two people will have the same experience giving birth. By and large, this story is sweet and funny. This is an AU where men can clone themselves—and it's presented seriously. There's a little social commentary, a little science, a lot of humor.
> 
> There's a C-section, because that's how the clones are born. Pregnancy triggers (other than morning sickness) are tagged for each chapter. 
> 
> The majority of the warnings apply to Chapt 8-Birth. This chapter can be skipped without affecting the story. If you want to read through the labor (humor, hurt/comfort, and James getting loopy on the anesthesia) there's a warning "The birth changed in a heartbeat" to remind you to stop reading at that point because that's where the C-section begins. Things get tense and emotional. (Spoiler: James has the baby and everyone is fine.)
> 
> **Specific Possible triggers:**
> 
> Severe morning sickness, transverse lie, kick counts, non-routine fetal monitoring, mandated bed rest, trial of labor for scheduled C-section, back labor, graphic description of C-section and operating room, fear of partner/infant death, anesthesia, meconium staining/aspirated meconium, neonatal unit.
> 
> Dryad suggested this great website for pregnancy and fertility issues: www.stirrup-queens.com
> 
> Atropos_lee found them a place to live! Photos of the house described in the story: http://owlbsurfinbird.livejournal.com/12229.html
> 
> Disclaimer: A number of people had a hand in this story and didn't even know it--I've posted my thanks on LJ (see link above).


	2. Months Three to Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many heartfelt thanks for the wonderful beta work by Atrops_Lee and Dryad. I tinkered with the story since they read it--mistakes are mine.

**Months Three to Four**

**By now the nausea and breast tenderness have passed. You’re ready for your first external ultrasound. Your clone is looking more and more like you every day. Time to let your friends and family hear the joyous news! Make sure to take home a photo of the first ultrasound because that's YOU!**

Hathaway walked into his office and stared at the package of pork scratchings on the center of his desk. “I think someone left you a present, Lizzie.” He held out the package.

“That’s for you.” Lizzie rose, case folders in hand, and stood beside his desk. “My brother loved those when he was carrying my nephew. Ate them all the time. Eight grams of protein per serving.” She gave him a slight smile. "Congratulations."

"Cheers." Hathaway slumped into his chair, heaving a sigh. "Does everyone know?"

"No. No, Sir. Well, not that you're keeping the baby. We share an office, so I noticed. Pregnancy websites. Cloning." She took a measured breath. "My brother liked the paternity section at Marks and Spencers. Bigger clothes. Stayed on the job. Kept everyone in the dark till he was almost ready to deliver. Joked to everyone he was putting on weight."

Hathaway made a noise, encouraging her to continue.

"Yeah, well, I don’t want to do all of the work around here. And him clucking like a mother hen is bad enough." She glanced at Robbie who was in the other room updating the case board. "Can’t imagine how he’d be if you were off home on early paternity leave."

"Cheers." Hathaway gave her a lopsided smile as he opened the package for a taste. "These aren't too bad." He held out the package.

"When are you due?" she asked, taking a chunk.

"January 6. Epiphany."

Lizzie snorted a laugh. "Oh, I know how you’ll be spending the holiday."

"As long as I’m not spending it here, I’ll be happy."

"You do seem to be happier, if I can say so, Sir."

"You can." Hathaway smiled slightly and sighed, as if realizing this for the first time himself. "I am."

++++

It was crowded in the childbirth education class. Couples, singles. Old, young. Having the option to clone one’s self meant that there were couples Robbie’s age. Pregnant males made up about a quarter of the class.

"Hi, Gary." The group obliged.

James gave Robbie a nudge and rolled his eyes.

Gary smiled with enthusiasm. "In this class we’re going to talk about the miracle of becoming a parent. Oh, I know you thought it was a childbirth education class. It is. We’ve tailored our instruction to meet the varied needs of this large group. Some of you will have a—" he inserted air quotes, "— traditional birth experience. Some of your babies will be delivered by C-section. Those of you adopting babies will want an emphasis on infant care.” He used a remote to dim the lights. "We're going to start this exciting journey with a video entitled 'What is a Baby?'"

Robbie turned to share a raised eyebrow with Hathaway. The man’s seat was empty.

He found James leaning against the corridor wall outside the hospital classroom.

"I think I’d like a pint."

James huffed a laugh. "I’d like one too. But since I can’t, I’ll drive. As usual."

"What was that, in there?" asked Robbie, as they walked to the car park. "Near as I can recall, the class was supposed to be all about huffing and puffing."

"That was part of the educational requirement if you are having a clone. To allay fears that a full blown human is going to emerge from one’s arse or grow from a pod or container."

"Thought your clone would spring forth from your head like Athena from the mind of Zeus."

James paused, and looked over the roof of the car before he opened the door. "You surprise me, Robbie Lewis. Good on you."

"Surprise meself sometimes. Pub, James."

+++++

Robbie heard another bang from the kitchen and turned up the sound on the telly.

James was in a foul mood.

Said it had nothing to do with the Thai green curry chicken that Robbie had attempted using a jar of sauce and instant white rice. Had nothing to do with the odd mix of leftover vegetables he'd thrown in with a bag of salad.

Said it had nothing to do with being taken off the murder and put on something less 'stressful.'

He’d asked James what was bothering him and the man had glared at him. Glared.

James had never glared at him before.

And then James didn’t say a word. As if he didn’t trust himself.

  


It was a short, horrible meal that was silent for no apparent reason.

And then—as if that wasn't enough—James had ordered Robbie out of the kitchen to sit in the living room with a curt, "Get out of my way." It was so unlike him, Robbie did as he asked without even asking why.

Three weeks. They had been flat mates for three weeks. For the most part, it had been easier than being with Laura. Women always wanted to talk, explore feelings, and reveal their innermost thoughts.

James barely said a serious word. If he had feelings, he kept them to himself. And his innermost thoughts centered on whatever case he was working at the moment. Sure, they talked, he told Innocent, when she had inquired.

_"How's our father to be, Robbie?"_

_"Seems fine."_

_"And?"_

_"And—what, Ma'am?"_

_"I wondered if –never mind."_

_"Right, Ma'am."_

As a bonus, Robbie didn't have to contend with second hand cigarette smoke or finding a designated driver when they went to the pub after work because James wasn't smoking or drinking. They took turns cooking and cleaning. No sarky reprimand for accidentally leaving the toilet seat up. No joking threats of scheduling 'couples time' on a calendar.

It was almost ideal.

Aside from the occasional bout of pregnancy sickness, Robbie had to remind himself that James was even pregnant. The man was ratcheted down tight, ashamed and apologetic for being sick though it wasn't his fault. _Val had had a horrible time, too—sick as a dog with Mark._

Robbie suspected James wanted to talk more about the baby, about what was happening with his body, his feelings.

What had Robbie by the short hairs was the growing awareness that he wanted James to talk with him about the baby, the changes in his body, and his feelings.

It wasn't that he hadn't been there for Val. He had. And so had her mother, his mother, and half the neighborhood.

James didn't have a soul. Except Robbie.

While having a baby was difficult for anyone, it was especially hard for a man, Robbie reckoned. Hadn't been so long ago that only women were able to have children. Of course as soon as cloning became a viable option for reproduction, billions were poured into research for male pregnancy and support. Women who had been struggling for decades with infertility were outraged—where was this support when they were trying to conceive? Where was the funding for research then?

Reproductive rights became trendy. Public propaganda campaigns to sway the vote: "Birds do it, bees do it, even amoeba and fleas do it. Let's do it, let's have a clone!"

Seven billion people on the planet—what's a few more as long as they are the right people? The educated rich. The intelligentsia. Oh, and police and fire fighters because that promotes the public good.

_Politics be damned. All James wanted was a baby._ And all Robbie wanted was to help.

And what was particularly aggravating? Knowing Laura had said this would happen. Had told him that moving in with James would change everything and that she wished them well. Giving him that 'I know you better than you know yourself' smile.

He hated that she'd been right.

Ten minutes into the television program, James padded into the living room. Work clothes had given way to an ancient track suit and thick socks on his thin feet. He was carrying two bowls of ice cream. He handed one to Robbie before wedging himself into his corner of the couch.

James tucked into his ice cream. “Why are you here? Why do you put up with this?”

“Told you before. I’m here for you. Both of you.” Robbie licked the ice cream from the back of his spoon, a slight grin on his face. “Funny, that. Both of you.”

“A young man came into the station today. He’d been beaten and raped.”

“Aw.” Robbie grimaced. "Charges?"

"Of course we're bringing charges. Rape is rape."

“Sad that. Leads?”

“It is.” James set his dish onto the coffee table. "And no leads." He folded his arms and crossed his legs.

Robbie sighed, calming the rising tide of questions. Waited. Wondered if the discussion would run to James’ childhood. Nothing. How should he respond? What could he say? _What was this about? Should say something. Learned that lesson from Val—silence only went so far. Knew that much from caring for the man. Best friends and all._ He could feel the tension winding like a spring between them, pulling them together.

_One wrong thing could send us flying apart,_ Robbie thought.

"You try to protect your kids, best you can. Give them the tools." Robbie turned his attention back to the telly, making a stab at the problem. “If we’re worried about our boy, we’ll put him into karate classes. Teach him to defend himself. And he’ll take piano over my dead body."

"Nothing happened in that summerhouse."

"Glad to hear it. Still not letting our boy take piano. Guitar’s fine."

"Our boy," James said, suspiciously.

_He thinks I'm taking the piss. Bloody hell._

"Yes, our boy. Of course, our boy." He put the emphasis on the pronoun. "If you'll have me. I know something about fathering. Lyn turned out right enough, though a little wild in her teens. Now, Mark." Robbie sighed, setting aside the ice cream and turning off the television. "Maybe I wasn't there enough for Mark." Robbie cleared his throat. "Not enough when he was younger, anyway. Some kids need more fathering than others. I tried to make it up to him, though, after Val passed, but he wasn't having any of it."

"So you have regrets? That's why you're here?"

James' head was tilted forward, curious, though skeptical.

"No." _How did this come to be about me all of a sudden?_ Robbie folded his arms. "Every parent has regrets. Comes with the birth certificate. Not so much for the little things, though those come up at family dinners. Lyn reminds me every bloody Christmas that she never got a pony."

"Obviously you were a horrible father." James seemed to loosen with the jibe, relaxing into the familiar territory of banter rather than confrontation.

Robbie smiled at the memory. "Told her it wouldn't fit in the stocking. Every Christmas. She pretended to believe that till she was twelve. Teases me about it every year. You'll hear about it when we go up at Christmas. It's a tradition."

Hathaway's face changed, going from hopeful and fond to stone. "I can't go." He stacked the bowls. "Can't travel. The baby's scheduled to be born January 6th. It's not right to keep you from your family at Christmas." He started to rise.

"James." Robbie tugged at his elbow. How could the man not see that he was family, too? "Then we'll stay here and make our own Christmas. Get a tree. Christmas roast and pudding." He saw the way hope tugged at the corners of James' mouth. "Maybe I can figure out a way to put a pony into a stocking for our boy."

"You said it again.'Our boy.' Do you mean that?"

James sat on the edge of the couch, rigid and still. 

_Looks like he's ready to bolt._ "Of course I do," Robbie said. He took the bowls from James and stood up. "I said I'm here for the duration."

"But why?"

_Bugger it._ "Selfishness, pure and simple." He raised his eyebrows because it should be obvious. "Regrets stay with you forever. Being here with you now—and later, too—well, it's the right thing to do, something I'll never regret. I don't want to wake up one morning alone and think, 'I should have been there for Hathaway.'"

"Early days, Robbie. I could lose—"

"—and later, as I said. Especially then. Christ, James, you're my best friend. I'm not letting you go through this without my help."

"Are you afraid I'll fuck it up?" The skepticism was back, folded arms and all.

"No!" Robbie made an exasperated noise and took the bowls into the kitchen. The room was spotless—as it was whenever James did the washing up—and he took a peculiar joy in pitching the dirty bowls into the sink. He leaned over, hands on the counter. James would be a good father. He knew that. He wondered what he would bring to the situation.

_Not afraid James will screw it up. It's that I will._

"Robbie." James came in to the kitchen, leaned against the counter, arms folded. Stared pointedly at the bowls in the sink. He made a disbelieving noise. "What have you got against the piano?"

"Spent a summer helping movers once." Robbie turned on the water, washed up the bowls, and dried them. "Think of pianos every time I feel a twinge in me back."

Hathaway took the bowls and put them in the cupboard. "Then our boy," he said, savoring the words with a shy smile, "will take violin." He padded out of the kitchen.

"Violin," Robbie huffed, under his breath. "Bugger it. Now we’ll have to make the lad a bloody ninja warrior."

  


+++

  


"Looks just like you," observed Robbie. "Not so much green as cabbage-like."

The ultrasound technician adjusted the output to a grainy black and white image rather than green.

Hathaway stared at the screen, transfixed. The technician rubbed the probe into the cold gel on his belly and pushed hard, clicked an image. Moved the probe, captured another.

"What’s that? An arm? That long thing." Robbie wanted to know.

"That’s a penis," said the tech.

"Yeah, looks just like me," quipped Hathaway, grinning.

Robbie laughed. "Get a picture of that. Post it at the nick."

"Oi! Haven’t told them yet!"

Robbie’ grin faded. "You haven’t told them. And you were on my case about telling our Lyn. She was worried you were dying, man. Me moving house and all to take care of you."

"Lyn was worried about me?"

Robbie shook his head in disbelief. "Is it so strange that she would be?" He glanced at his watch. "She knows we're doing this today and if I don't ring her soon, she'll be on me for not reporting in."

The technician wiped off the probe. "Baby appears healthy. Good weight for gestational age. Twenty to twenty-one weeks. You’ll get copies of the photos, the report in the next few days. I see you had other tests done today as well." He typed on the console and then turned the screen so that they could see it together. "Depending on those results, I think you can safely tell people that you're having a baby."

Hathaway’s clone was a reverse image initially. A few keystrokes and they could see the outline of the baby’s face, eyes closed, and a dreamy expression. The clone was sucking his thumb.

"Oh, the unfortunate shape of that face. Those ears." James sighed. "He’s lovely."

Robbie smiled fondly, eyes only on James. "He certainly is."


	3. Month Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many heartfelt thanks for the wonderful beta work by Atrops_Lee and Dryad. I tinkered with the story since they read it--mistakes are mine.

**Month Five**

**In the fifth month, you may even feel your clone move! And don’t forget to start buying those cute paternity/maternity outfits you’ve had your eye on—time to let the whole world know that you’re going to be the proud parent of YOU!**

**As your clone gains weight, so do you! Make sure to keep up your calorie intake—YOU need it!**

James stared at himself in the mirror at the shop. _I look fat. Not pregnant. Just fat. I wonder which is worse, being a fat man in a thin society or being pregnant?_

They certainly didn't make much in the way of clothing for the pregnant male. He held out the jacket and leaned back. The thought that he might expand to this extent was frightening.

He turned sideways, thinking of Alfred Hitchcock. Could almost hear violins screeching, the plummy accent. _Good evening._

He was glad it was getting colder and that he could hide his growing bulk in the folds of a long coat, even if it wasn't cut as nicely as the one he was used to wearing. He could turn up the collar and pretend that he didn't exist. The shop clerk had been very kind, telling him that he was managing the ‘fatherhood look’ well. Not many men had the height to carry it off. After the fifth month, he was told, the belly became less 'beer' and more 'baby.' He didn’t have a huge baby bulge yet. Hadn’t been reduced to wearing his trousers buckled below his belly.

Robbie teased him, calling it a ‘bit of a pudding around your middle.’

_Robbie._

  


Good thing that cases were slow at the moment. He knew they’d pick up closer to the holidays. Families getting together and the inevitable violence that followed as they confronted old hurts and conflicts. Lovers not getting the attention or the gift they felt they deserved. _Joys of the season._

For now, it was quiet at the nick. _A good thing._

Because all he could think about was Robbie Lewis. It was the oddest thing-- he barely remembered the feeling of desire—hadn't had sex in an age. Hadn't missed it either, not really. If he couldn't have who he wanted, then he would do without. He was a romantic at heart, after all.

But wanting Robbie? _Not—sexually,_ he admitted to himself, although he’d certainly had more thoughts than usual in that direction. But wanting to touch Robbie. _Just to be with him, talk with him. Maybe even hold him. As a friend._

And he couldn't. They were mates. The rest of it just wasn't on.

Robbie was temporarily assisting on other cases with other inspectors, but they saw each other most evenings depending on schedules. Robbie was still holed up in James' tiny spare room. Monty shared James' bed. So it wasn't as if he didn't see the man. He saw him all the time.

But more than once James found himself wandering down the hall just to see if Robbie was in the station. Then he'd walk quickly back to his office, embarrassed, afraid he'd be caught.

He drank endless cups of tea, wandering the nick, trying not to look like he was searching for Robbie. Called it 'management by walking around' to hide this bizarre behavior. Spent endless hours on the internet doing research. _Was this normal? Some sort of nesting instinct? No, that came later._

James thought his obsession with touch might be because everyone seemed to be reaching out to him. Lizzie had patted his shoulder when she brought in tea the other day. He'd been so surprised by the sudden appearance of tea that he didn't even comment on the pat. Jean Innocent had squeezed his forearm companionably before pushing him out of the way to grab something from the printer. Laura had become almost huggy.

That morning he had been congratulating himself on not being caught. Until Laura directed him down the hall with a wide-eyed smirk: "He went that-away, Hathaway." Jean Innocent had been no better moments later, asking, "Should we put a bell on Lewis?" and cocking her head in disbelief before pointing to the break room.

And Robbie? The man himself had been waiting by the coffee pot with a knowing grin.

Because last night Robbie touched him.

++

  


James gestured with his chopsticks at the telly to answer the contestant’s trivia question: "Istanbul." He rooted around in the noodles of the take away container looking for another piece of chicken.

"We do have plates."

"I’ll be finished with this in a minute."

"Eating like a rower."

Hathaway nodded. "Making up for lost time." He held up a soggy green. "Bok choy. Ginger. Garlic. Tofu. Full of anti-oxidants and foliate. Building strong bones." He closed his eyes and complained. "I miss smoking. I miss beer." He leaned forward to set the now empty container on the coffee table. "Going to have the baby, and then get sticking drunk, first thing out of the delivery room."

"Make sure you breast feed the lad before you run to the pub. Not raising an alcoholic."

"Not breastfeeding."

"Glad to hear it. I'm a dab hand with a bottle."

As James sat back, he felt—odd. Lightheaded suddenly.

He put his hand to his belly. It felt like his insides were fluttering.

"Are you going to be sick?" Robbie was half out of his seat to grab the bin when James grabbed his arm.

"No—" James breathed, "—I think the baby is moving."

"Moves all the time. Says so on the website."

James shook his head. He slid the waistband of his old track suit down to expose his lower stomach. He guided Robbie’s hand to his bare belly. "Can you feel that?"

Robbie shook his head. Moved his hand lower. Scooted closer, to James. His hand spread across James’ baby bulge. "No." He rubbed his hand across James’ flesh. _Settled, just there._

"How can you not feel that?" James said with asperity. He inhaled sharply and held his breath. The baby was fluttering, as if he was rolling or spinning, just there in the center of his being.

Every brain cell was concentrated on the slight pressure of Robbie’s cool hand on his skin. The intense sensation of the baby pulling his thoughts inward. The feeling of Robbie’s palm growing warm on his flesh. Almost felt as if the baby was nestling against that hand, as if Robbie could hold their son in the cradle of his palm.

Robbie kept his hand against James' abdomen and threw his other arm across James’ shoulders. "I’ll just keep my hand here. In case he moves again." He didn’t look at James, deliberately ignored him, in fact. He wore a secretive smile.

 _Two could play this game,_ James thought. He cuddled closer to Robbie’s side and put his hand over Robbie’s as if he had been doing it for years instead of that very instant. "I’ll just put my hand here in case I have to move your hand quickly if he moves."

"Good idea."

The two men stared at the telly, neither able to acknowledge the other. But both were smiling.

++++

  


Robbie pushed the shopping trolley behind Hathaway, marveling at the man’s voracious appetite. "Need more milk."

"We’re getting all of the cold items at the end. Last time the ice cream was melted."

Robbie wanted to say, ‘That might have been because we were wandering around Tesco for an hour looking at baby things,’ but he didn’t dare. First time he had commented on the nursery he’d been taken to task.

He wanted to get home, maybe finish putting the cot together.

Though how he was going to manage with his bed in the way, he had no idea. When he had moved in with James, he’d taken the tiny guest room thinking he’d move out in a week or two. Find his own place. Thought James wouldn’t want him around once he got on his feet. And he’d kept promising himself that he’d pack up and go just as soon as James didn’t need him anymore. He and James could co-father from separate flats, come to that. James might want privacy, might not want old granddad around once the baby was born. _Might want to take up with someone younger, in fact. Old granddad could mind the baby._

 _Minding the baby while James went out and had a good time would be just fine,_ thought Robbie sourly. _Maybe James should be with someone his own age. Yeah, that would be just dandy._ He caught a reflection of himself in the glass of the refrigerator section: frowning and deflated. _Ancient._

James hadn’t needed him for weeks now.

James was fine.

_No real reason to keep hanging about._

_No reason to leave, either._ So Robbie stayed.

As usual, they didn’t talk about it.

He was amazed that James had put up with him for this long. Amazed, too, that they got on so well as flat mates. James was patiently teaching him to cook—said he needed 'signature dishes'—just a few things he could be counted on to cook well every time so that their boy could see that both of his fathers were competent in the kitchen. Apparently ordering pizza didn't count.

Everything centered on the growing awareness that they would soon be parents. Together.

He supposed they could move the cot into James’ room. But that didn’t sit well either. When Lyn and Mark were born he and Val took turns fetching the bottles and nappies in the middle of the night. It made up for him not being there during the day, Val said. Not that she needed the help as much as she wanted him to have time with his children. And those quiet moments, rocking his children in the middle of the night, were the fondest memories Robbie had of those years. Certainly beat the memories he had of walking them back forth while they screamed. Or memories of being so bleary eyed he’d nearly dropped them. Or…

It was a long list. Probably a miracle his children made it to age five in one piece when they were left in his care. He’d been so distracted trying to prove himself at work. And Morse was distant. “Offspring’ he called the Lewis kids. Not unkind, but distant.

Now this baby, Hathaway’s clone? Everyone at the nick loved the idea of another Hathaway. Especially since the man was so much happier. He joked. He was comfortable. Not so much as a wise arse. Quotes might be from Dante or Dr. Seuss, depending. They were planning a ‘Bring Your Favorite Children’s Book Baby Shower’ as a surprise a few weeks before Christmas. James had no idea.

So this running around to stock up on baby things was ridiculous. Between Jack’s old baby clothes from Lyn and the surprise baby shower they were going to be fine. More than fine. The baby was likely to be spoiled.

And all they really needed tonight anyway was groceries.

Robbie watched as James put a bag of Mr. Porky's Pork Scratching snacks in the trolley. He waited till James’ back was turned before taking them out again and putting them back on the shelf.

"I saw that."

"Good. You’ve grown eyes at the back of your head." Robbie said. "Laura said to watch your salt and fat intake."

"Bother Laura. Lizzie says I’m entitled." James said in an unctuous tone.

"Lizzie wants your job. She'd be good at it too." Robbie muttered. "Have you on early paternity leave."

"She wants me on leave because she says you are making her crazy."

Robbie shot forward with the shopping trolley so that he was walking alongside Hathaway. He hissed: "What do you expect if you don’t answer your bloody mobile?"

Hathaway stopped, blocking the aisle as he turned sideways, imposing. "Do we have to go into that here?"

Robbie looked pointedly at Hathaway’s expanded girth and then into his eyes. "No. We will talk when we get home. And we will talk."

Hathaway nodded, curt. "Good."

"Fine."

James checked the shopping app on his mobile and sighed. He walked off to stand in front of the frozen foods. "Do you see the ice cream?"

"I don’t see your ice cream," said Robbie, grabbing a carton of the kind of ice cream that normal people ate. "What, don’t they have the special organic double chocolate espresso with caramel swirls and chunks of Swiss chocolate?"

Hathaway smirked. "No. Wish they did. Sounds like a great flavor. Except it would need salt in it."

Robbie shook his head, stormed back to the crisps aisle, and threw two snack bags of pork scratchings and a family sized bag of Doritos into the trolley. "There. A least there's cheese in the Doritos. Happy?"

"Deliriously." Hathaway scanned the section, tossed in a couple of cartons of ice cream. He took over the trolley and steered it toward the front of the store.

"Not going to comment on the lack of gourmet desserts?"

Hathaway shook his head.

"Not going to fuss about the selection of organic produce?"

Hathaway got in line. Sighed.

"Are you all right, man?" The resignation in the sigh pulled at Robbie’s gut.

"It’s—I’m tired. Long day." James leaned over the handle of the trolley, hunching forward. "My back aches," he admitted.

Robbie watched the strong back arch, relax, and arch again. James twisted at the waist, first one way and then the other. He made a face.

A single grocery clerk watched two other people ahead of them in line at the self-checkout. One was having problems with the chip and pin machine.

It would be a while. Robbie stood behind James. "I’m going to push on either side of your spine. Book says that may help. How’s that?"

Hathaway glanced to the side, straightened suddenly.

Robbie followed Hathaway’s gaze. An older man was frowning at them, disgust plain on his face.

"Come on." Robbie tugged on Hathaway’s arm, trying to pull him from the trolley. "Leave it. We don’t have to shop here."

"Shopping's done. Not going home without groceries." James said, loud enough to be overheard.

The older man turned away, pushing his trolley up the aisle.

Robbie started to follow, thinking to give the fellow a piece of his mind, but James grabbed his elbow. He pulled Robbie's hand into the crook of his arm. He leaned toward Robbie, conspiratorially. "It's a secret. No cheese in Doritos. Absolutely no nutritional value whatsoever. But pork scratchings have loads of protein."

Robbie cocked his head. "I'm trying to understand why a man who usually only eats organic produce is eating pork cracklings and Doritos."

"I'm pregnant," James said, as though it explained everything.


	4. Month Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many heartfelt thanks for the wonderful beta work by Atrops_Lee and Dryad. I tinkered with the story since they read it--mistakes are mine.

**Month Six**

**Now that you're in your second trimester, you'll want to take care of all of logistical aspects of having a clone. Notify your boss and co-workers to arrange for medical leave and modified work duties. This is the ideal time to move to a larger home or make modifications to your present living situation.**

**Take advantage of this special time to pamper yourself before your clone is born. Treat yourself to a massage, read a book, spend quality time with your significant other if you have one. Make time for YOU!**

+++

The bedroom door was open a crack, the light on. "James? You still awake?"

James was lying in bed, book open on his chest, sound asleep. His glasses were still perched on his nose.

Robbie knew, objectively, that James wore glasses. Had seen him wearing them a time or two. Pregnancy made his eyes dry, though, so he'd started taking the lenses out when he came home at night.

Entire evenings were now spent with Robbie surreptitiously watching ingrained habits of James' earlier life return. An index finger pushing up the glasses higher up on his nose. Breathing on the glasses to fog them up, wiping the lenses on the hem of his shirts. Pinching his nose, rubbing his eyes.

Robbie gently removed the glasses and set them on the nightstand. It made him smile, this bit of nightly caretaking. It reminded him of coming home late to find Val asleep on the couch, book on her chest, finger trapped between the pages.

It was intimate, turning off a light and closing someone’s book. Maybe more intimate than removing their glasses, really. There was trust involved that the light would go out and all would be well, trust involved in marking the page.

Robbie gently took the book and used the flyleaf to mark the spot. Forensic Entomology. _Charming bedtime reading. Blowflies on corpses._ He set the book with the others on the nightstand beside the bed. The stack was half textbooks for work, the other half classics and books on childbirth and infant care. When he’d first ventured in to turn out the light a few nights before, the books had been mostly work related, there weren’t any—

\--he stared. There, stacked with the others, was a very old copy of The Magic Faraway Tree. He slipped it out from between The Physics of Blood Spatter and Dr. Spock. He’d return it in the morning.

Odd that a man as cerebral as James would have an old children’s book. It was one of his favorite Enid Blyton books. In the soft light of the beside lamp, James looked so different from the very young man he’d watched sleep in hospital eight years before. His face had been unlined, lad barely shaved back then. Close cropped hair.

Now the blond hair was longer, almost too long. Had spotted a thread or two of silver in it when James turned his head. There was a line between his eyebrows now that deepened when he was thinking. His eyelashes were thinner somehow. There were laugh lines at the corners of his eyes though, as if he was making up for years of frowns.

Robbie reached out, almost touching a cheek, wondering if James had shaved that morning. Eight years ago it had seemed the most important thing in the world, knowing whether or not James was the sort of bloke who favored _**Loaded**_ magazine and Yorkie bars.

In the intervening years, it hadn’t mattered at all.

He was just James.

Would James want to stay with him? It had started to weigh on him, the possibility that James might meet someone else, might want someone, after the baby was born. And where would that put Robbie? He wanted to help with the baby. _Wanted James…_

He reached out with a fingertip and lifted a strand of hair from James’ forehead.

_Strange thing, this feeling of wanting to be close. Wanting to be more than, well, flat mates. Probably because of the baby._

Monty, curled up on the end of the bed, looked at him through half-closed eyes as if he resented being disturbed.

Robbie turned off the light. As he left the room, he wondered if the faint sigh he heard from the bed was his imagination.

  


+++

  


Jean Innocent tapped on the door jamb of Hathaway's office. "Is Lizzie out helping Stapleton?"

Seated at his desk, James nodded. He picked up a pen, clicking it. "I gave her a list of what to look for."

"All of which she could have figured out on her own," Jean observed, shutting the door. She took a seat at Robbie's desk. "Lewis is gathering materials on the assault and rape case so that it can be handed over to that division. Your report was instrumental, I understand."

Hathaway gave a nod.

"I'd like you to consider taking the training to deal with this sort of case. The more proactive we are about prosecution, the more people will come forward when they are victimized." She leaned back in the chair. "If we have the personnel, perhaps we can affect a bit of social change."

Hathaway stared at his desk and then met her eyes. "Are you thinking of the people or the positive press?" He added, belatedly: "Ma'am."

She folded her arms. "Both. And I'm thinking of you. Being a copper and raising a child is difficult. And," she said, her head tilting at the stacks of files behind him, "I think it will be harder for you than most because you will expect your performance as a parent to be perfect."

"I expect so."

She smiled kindly, her head angled. "You have to be good enough, not perfect. We've seen the results of perfect parenting come through here too often. The pressure on the parents, the children."

He sighed and set his pen on his desk in a slow, deliberate way. _Will. Adam. She might be right._

"When Chris was small, I was encouraged to spend time with him. Took the opportunity to have a position with regular hours. Later, when we went through a bad patch, it was remembering that time together that allowed us to sort it. Our relationship's not perfect, but it's good enough. Obviously didn't affect my career." She met his eyes. "Will Robbie stay on to help after the baby is born?"

Hathaway raised his eyebrows. _That was direct._ He weighed what she was offering, her approach. She didn't seem to want to break them up at work, though they were working in other areas anyway. She seemed to care. It would be so much easier to have his relationship with Robbie—whatever it was since he didn't know himself—out in the open. Everyone seemed to know they were flat mates anyway—they were coppers, after all.

He gave the smallest of nods.

She beamed at him. "Good. I'm glad."

He found himself smiling, just a little, relieved that he no longer had to hide. "So am I."

  


+++

  


Robbie heard James’ groan and was up out of his bed and in James’ room like a shot.

"Is it time?"

James moaned, struggled to sit up, and reached to turn on the lamp. "What?"

"Is it time?"

James blinked at him, half-asleep.

"You’re having a baby!"

  


James nodded, yawned. "But not this minute." He pulled the covers to his chest: the duvet, an afghan, a blanket. "You promised you wouldn't mess with the thermostat."

"How far are they apart?"

"What?"

"The contractions, the bloody contractions, man!"

James slumped back onto the pillows with a soft grunt. "Oh. Not yet. Way too early. Sorry if I woke you, Robbie." He sat up. "Are you all right?"

Robbie rubbed eyes with his fingertips, his eyes sweeping the room. Dream bordering on nightmare. Needing to get to James, running. Barked his shin on the edge of the cot frame as he tore out of the room. "I'm fine. You were moaning."

"Sorry. I’m—I can’t get comfortable. It's nothing." He rolled onto his side, arched backward, arched forward. "You—never mind."

"You want me to rub your back?"

"I can’t ask you—"

Robbie climbed into the bed behind James, who was lying on his side. Robbie balled his hands into fists, and worked them from James’ lower back up on either side of his spine.

"Ow. It’s fine. I’m fine." James pulled away with a grimace.

"Come here, you’re all knots. It takes a bit—" Robbie pushed with his hands.

"Use the heel of your—yes, much better. God. Right there."

Robbie felt his hands limber up, remembering how to knead, press, and work to relax a spasm. He could feel the muscle tension easing up a bit. The sensation of his hands against the thin fabric of James’ t-shirt was comforting. Reminded him of Monty, almost, the way the cat moved his paws.

Robbie worked silently, concentrating on moderating pressure of his hands, establishing a rhythm. James made small sounds beneath him, not full sighs or moans. Contented murmurs, satisfied hums. Robbie imagined James' skin growing warm and pink as he stroked, completing each movement without lifting his hand. Soothing the knots. He wondered what it would look like, his hands moving on James' smooth, bare back.

 _Wonder what other sounds James might make if he_ … He blushed.

"What muscle is this?" he asked.

"Erector spinae." Long silence.

Robbie knelt, sitting back on his heels, wobbling a bit on the bed. He widened his stance, pushing hard into James' lower back. "You tensed up just then."

"I'm wondering why you’re here."

"Do you want me to go?" Robbie pulled his hands back, almost mortified. He'd pushed his way onto the man's bed, for Christ's sake.

"No, no. It's just that I was wondering why…" James' voice trailed off.

 _He doesn't sound offended. Sounds puzzled._ "You keep asking me that. I thought I was rubbing your back."

"I—it feels good. Better, I mean."

Robbie slid his hands under James’ shirt. "Works better if we get this off."

"No, it’s fine now." Hathaway tugged the shirt down, almost half-heartedly.

"Been to the doctor checkups with you, I’ve seen what’s what. Doesn’t bother me."

"It bothers me." James craned his neck back. "You don't have to do this. It's cold. And I'm fine now."

Robbie rubbed circles on James' back; his other hand was on James' shoulder as the man lay on his side. He couldn't see the younger man's face, but he felt the change in the air, almost a vibration, as if a gong had sounded in his head.

 _I am an idiot,_ Robbie thought.

He continued to move his hand, warming James skin as he slid the t-shirt gently off his body. It felt as if James was melting under his touch. It was almost too sensual, almost too fast. _Too serious._

"Nothing to be self-conscious about. You’re the size of a house." Robbie put a comforting hand on James shoulder as he leaned over to look at him.

The corner of Hathaway’s mouth quirked up.

"Surprised your clone doesn’t have a clone, that’s how big you are."

James rolled onto his back, biting back a smirk. "Your bedside manner needs work." His eyes dared Robbie, flicking from the hard round belly to Robbie’s face and then back again.

 _Almost self-deprecating,_ Robbie thought.

Robbie let his hand fall to James’ round baby belly, as he usually did when they sat together on the couch, but now he could see the man’s bare chest, too. Hard, defined muscle and strong shoulders. The faint triangle of fine blond chest hair. The twin foxes tattooed near his shoulder. He put his hand out and brushed the outline of the tattoos with his thumb, surprising himself with his boldness. He glanced up. Hathaway’s eyes were huge with wonder, expression tentative. Robbie smiled to himself. "Thought they might have been penciled on. Why foxes?"

"The CreveCoeur Curse. A pact made with a witch centuries ago." A smile played across James’ face, animating first his eyes and then his mouth. "She and her mate were gamboling about the forest in the guise of foxes and one of my ancestors shot her lover. All of the men in my family are marked with twin foxes so that we may never forget the loss of true love."

Robbie grinned. "So your clone will be born with those?"

"Only if he goes to Spain, gets blind drunk, wanders into a tattoo parlor thinking it’s a _**bomboneria**_ and fails to enunciate. Before I passed out, I asked for _**dulzura,**_ it’s a sweet. I got _**dos zorro.**_ Two foxes.”

Robbie traced the outline with his thumb and forefinger. Mesmerized. He wanted to ask about the other tattoo on his arm. Never occurred to him that James would mark himself.

The light from the bedside lamp made James’ skin gold. Pregnancy made the man glow from within. He couldn't seem to pull his hand away from the younger man's shoulder. But he paused. Maybe James didn't want this. Maybe he was humoring Robbie.

Robbie wavered and drew back his hand.

James folded his hands on his belly. The gold band glinted on James’ hand in the lamp light. Robbie hadn’t asked, hadn’t dared, not even wanting to joke. Had wanted to, though. Everyone had noticed. Assumed it was a religious thing from walking the Camino. He'd overheard a young constable speculating that Robbie and Hathaway were married—he'd put a stop to that rumor right off thinking that James would be mortified.

 _But a wedding ring, worn on the left hand? What was that all about?_ He tapped the ring with a fingertip, eyebrow on the rise, inquiring.

James attempted to twist it. Failed. "Belonged to my mother. Wouldn’t fit on my right hand. I’d planned on leaving it in Santiago. Have to have it cut off, now."

_He never talks about his family._

"Hospital asked, last visit. For names of relatives."

James pursed his lips, sighed.

"Told them to put my name down. Next of kin. As your partner. Hope that's all right."

James folded his hands again, eyes guarded. "Sure you want to do that?"

_No, not at all. Even less so now that you're looking at me like I've made a huge mistake. But you need me, man._

Robbie nodded, resolute. "Got Lyn’s blessing. Laura’s. Innocent, come to that."

James narrowed his eyes, head tilted on the pillow, considering this. "And yet you didn’t ask me."

Robbie put his hands on James’ hands. "I thought you’d say no." This wasn't going the way he'd planned at all. They were going to raise the baby together, no question. They'd talked about that. They hadn't talked about this, though. _**This**_ was vastly different from _**that.**_

Whatever _**this**_ was.

"It was to finish the paperwork so I can be with you when you deliver," he said.

"No other reason?"

Robbie traced the outline of the foxes on James chest with his finger, his thumb rubbing the tops of their heads. _Can't explain what I don't understand yet, man. Can't understand why now. Can't put any of it into words. Not really._ "Can't let you do this alone. You're my partner." His voice sounded too quiet between them. _Should have announced it with authority and conviction. Sounds like I'm afraid._

_Maybe I am._

"Why are you here?" James whispered. "Robbie."

 _I'm here because of the way you say my name,_ Robbie thought. _As if you're tasting it, as if it's delicious. Like you relish it. I imagine you saying it just that way in circumstances that would make you red as a beet. I'm here because of the hopeful look in your eyes. There's an openness there that you save only for me. A shyness too. Not that you're afraid, you're never afraid._

_Most courageous man I've ever met._

"Here because of you." Robbie said, plainly, putting the conviction he felt about the words into volume and force. He watched James' eyes go wide. _Good. Yes, best to be honest about it. It's not just about the baby, not anymore. Hasn't been for weeks._

Robbie sat at an angle to James, feeling at odds. Most often they were shoulder to shoulder. He laid his palm on James' chest, to feel the steady heartbeat. To restore the contact, the balance between them. James mirrored his action with a slight smile.

The pool of lamplight drew them in closer. The rest of the room was lost in shadow.

 _He's been waiting for this all along._ Robbie huffed a laugh. _Waiting for me to catch up. Might have said something, soft lad._

James reached out and drew Robbie’s other hand to the side of his face. "Haven’t shaved. Haven't needed to." His mouth curled at the corner, a tender smile. "You’ve been wondering, haven’t you, Robbie, when you come in to turn out the light."

Robbie felt the soft stubble prickle beneath his palm. "How did you know?"

"Promoted to Inspector." James turned his head slightly and pressed a kiss to Robbie’s palm. "Trained by the best." He captured the edge of Robbie's thumb between his lips, nibbling the edge. "And I wasn’t asleep." James' eyes were heavy lidded, sultry.

 _Wicked, mocking, oh, there are lots of words that could describe the way James is holding my attention,_ Robbie thought.

_None of them are innocent._

Robbie barely breathed. _Help me understand what is happening here, James. That's why you gave me those shy looks. Not fear. Not at all. Patience. Self-control. Hope._

James' expression softened into familiarity; Robbie relaxed. It was just his friend, after all. _Just James._

Except his heart was pounding.

The younger man sat up a bit, holding Robbie's face between his palms, the calloused tips of his fingers hard against soft flesh. He scanned Robbie's face minutely with his eyes, as if he could measure his thoughts, each a note to be sung as praise. James' thumbs smoothed Robbie's brow and with excruciating slowness, he touched his lips to Robbie's forehead. He pulled back enough to rest his forehead against Robbie's, a benediction.

Robbie was torn between wanting to move faster and accepting James' need to move slowly in this. _Is he moving slowly because he doesn't think I want this?_

James put his hand at the back of Robbie's neck, as if he needed an anchor. The color of James' eyes darkened, lake blue becoming an ocean and just as deep. He seemed to be staring into the depths of Robbie' soul. Controlled intensity, testing the waters—analogies flooded Robbie' brain and none was exactly right, none described this:

The flutter of James' eyelashes against his own. The feel of James' lips on his own: sweet, chaste at first. Inquiring. Then demanding.

Then—gone. "Okay?"

Robbie nodded. Stunned.

James reached over and turned off the lamp.

  


++++

  


_**"Conspicamur nunc intrantem** _

_**Limen nostrum nunc calcantem** _

_**Cattum quendam Petasatum..."** _

James' addressed the chant to his growing belly, holding the book off to his side. 

"Bit young to have him become a God-botherer, isn't it?" 

"I don't want him on his knees either. I'm just reading to him." James held out the book. 

"Cattus Petasatus. The Cat in the Hat in Latin." Robbie gave a long-suffering smile. "Of course." He rubbed his forehead and dropped his hand. "Will that get our boy into Cambridge?" 

"Oxford, yes. Cambridge, no. Doesn't scan well. The rhyme scheme is similar to a medieval hymn, if you listen closely...."

  


+++

  


“You passed the market.”

Robbie nodded.

“We’re out of milk.” James sat in the passenger seat, his seatbelt cutting into his shoulder uncomfortably. He twisted around as they passed another intersection. “Where are we going?”

“Home.”

“I wish.” They were driving slowly through a neighborhood of mixed, older homes in a nice part of Oxford. Headington? No, Risinghurst. Big trees, semi-detached houses built in the 1930s set a bit back from the street. A few tiny gardens.

“I know.” Robbie pulled up to a small semi-detached brick house. A slender tree devoid of leaves acted as a marker between the two sides. A low stone wall covered with a tangle of overgrown shrubs hid a front bay window. He got out of the car.

James cocked his head, puzzled. Midafternoon on a Saturday, the first day it hadn’t rained in a week. He could hear children’s shouts, laughter. Had Laura moved? Jean? No, Jean would have a Grand Designs-type house. He’d never been to Lizzie’s, perhaps this was her house? Was this a case? He'd seen a folder on Robbie's desk before he left for the day. Lizzie had snatched it away from him when he reached for it. Said it was ‘Nothing.’

Robbie stood in the center of the gravel walk, waiting. James followed him to the door at the side. Robbie pulled out a key. _Oh, it must belong to a suspect. Or the victim._

They entered a sitting area that was empty save for a piano pushed against the far wall. He pulled on crime scene gloves from his pocket. Hardwood floors. Nice fireplace, period craftsmanship. Kitchen off the sitting room. A counter separated the cooking area from the breakfast room. It was a good size counter, though—two people could work side by side. _Being companionable would make up for the deficiencies in space._ A small garden with a pergola could be seen from the window over the kitchen sink. _Charming. Sad spot for a crime scene._

"Was the body found inside the house?" James rejoined Robbie in the sitting area.

Robbie raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Or does this house belong to the suspect? Must have been on the market for a while." James ran a gloved finger over the top of the piano. Dust. "Rental?"

"No. Needed some re-plaster and plumbing." Robbie was watching him carefully, as if he was afraid James would contaminate the scene.

"After SOCO was in? Damage must have been extensive. Fresh paint in the sitting room and kitchen. I don’t understand. I’m not on leave yet. Was this the murder case that occurred while I was out? I don't remember it being particularly bloody."

"Let’s go upstairs."

James trudged up the narrow stairs after Robbie, passing a small stained glass window taking the place of the staircase window. It was mostly clear glass, with a simple fleur de lis in the center. He stopped. The window looked as if it was added after the house was built. "Shame, really. Nice house like this."

"How so?"

"Having had a murder on the property affects the resale value." James turned on the landing and opened the door on a double bedroom. Windows looked onto part of the tree in the front. There were no leaves on the branches, but he imagined it would be shady and green in the spring. The bath across the hall smelled of fresh paint, too. _Large bathtub. Fit a good sized body in there._

There were two other rooms across the tiny hall from the double bedroom. One was big enough for a desk and a bookcase, nothing more. _Home office. No sign of blood. No new paint. Could use fresh paint in here, though. Why do people use that alarming shade of yellow?_

On the other side was a small bedroom. _Plush carpet, new. Probably a lot of blood, to have to replace the carpet here. Fresh paint. Sad--this is a lovely little room._ Instead of the usual radiator beneath the windows, a window seat had been constructed between two short bookshelves that ran the length of the wall. Previous owner must have been someone who loved books.

The view from the window looked down on the tiny garden and the top of the pergola. The lot was divided, the area closest to the house was tended, and the rest was a deep, wild, mature garden. _Now that would be where I would murder someone._ Farther afield, the barest tops of the spires of Oxford. And, from an oblique angle, you could see the tip of the Radcliff Camera. 

_It is an ideal room. A dreamer’s room. A child’s room._ He ran a gloved finger over the empty bookcase, seeing the wear in the wood, thinking of the books. There was a cushion to sit on to look out the window. _Double glazed window._

He paused. Was that—?

"You can hear the bells of Oxford."

"Nice view, too," Robbie said, coming up behind him.

"Is this house on the market?"

"Not anymore. It was on auction."

James sighed heavily. _Maybe someday._ They'd talked about getting a larger place and while this wasn't all that much larger, it felt more like a home than his flat.

Then as he turned to Robbie, realization dawned. Robbie’s eyes were shining, excited.

_No. Can't be._

Robbie nodded, putting his arm over James’ shoulders. He grinned. "I’ll make a copper of you yet. Bodies. Blood spatter. You should have heard yourself. Never been a body here. Nor crime." Robbie drew himself up. "Became a quest, finding the right place." Robbie pulled him closer with a little shake. "I needed to make a decision quickly, love. I hope it was the right one. Between my savings, my pension, and your salary, we're able to afford it." He grimaced. "Not looking forward to meeting with the lender, though, seeing as how we aren't married." 

James leaned in to the embrace, speechless. He didn’t want to know yet if they could really afford it, didn’t care. At that moment all he could think about was how they were going to be together, in this perfect house, raising a child together. _And he mentioned marriage. Marriage. We could be tenants in common, but he mentioned marriage. That--can't begin to imagine that._ He turned to cup Robbie’s face between his palms.

Robbie smiled fondly. “I know. You can tell me later.”

James beamed. “Want to show you later.” He kissed Robbie sweetly, deepening the embrace with all of the feeling he could muster. Love, gratitude. He broke it off, embarrassed. Though they shared an easy affection, he still felt as if he was taking advantage of Robbie. The man had been married, was a father, had lived with Laura—he was the stereotypical straight male.

Who had been sharing his bed for the last two weeks.

They were spoons nestled in drawer, Robbie had joked, and he was only keeping James' backside warm. Ignore anything that comes up—that was the unstated, though mutually understood rule. And if Robbie happened to nuzzle James' neck, or pressed kisses to his shoulder, well, it was friendly. Like rubbing James' belly for luck as if he was a statue of the happy Buddha. Or burrowing into the nape of his neck to sniff his hair. Or chaste kisses that deepened to the point of passion before one or the other broke it off with a flimsy excuse. 

The excuses had become a joke between them, too, a game, part of their banter. Not tonight, pet, I have a post mortem in the morning. Not tonight, Robbie, the baby is practicing the last leg of the Boat Race against my lower back. Not tonight, yeah, bloody hell you're right, not tonight, what the fuck was in that curry?

So, as James stood there, arms outstretched to Robbie's shoulders and head dipped to Robbie's cheek, he knew they'd be standing there in years to come. He silenced the small, uncertain voice that whispered in his head: Was Robbie jumping into parenthood again with James because he thought James couldn’t handle the responsibility of having a child?

_A child. A home. Marriage. I'm certain to fuck up somehow. I usually do._  


He pulled Robbie closer and sighed, feeling Robbie melt against him, hoping to quiet his insecurities, his doubts. At that moment, standing in the nursery, James allowed himself to dream.

_Home and family. If Robbie is with me, there's a chance I might get this right._

The baby was kicking frantically, which made both of them smile as they broke apart. “He approves.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Atropos_lee found them a place to live! Photos of the house described in the story: http://owlbsurfinbird.livejournal.com/12229.html


	5. Month Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many heartfelt thanks for the wonderful beta work by Atrops_Lee and Dryad. I tinkered with the story since they read it--mistakes are mine.

**Month Seven**

**The energy you may have felt for the last two months may begin to wane as your clone demands more of your resources. You'll find yourself needing to use the restroom more often as YOU grow. As your clone gains weight, so do you! Make sure to keep up your calorie intake—YOU need it! Now's the time to get the nursery all ready for YOU!**

Robbie stopped pushing the shopping trolley as James walked quickly back into the shop from the car park. Weekly shopping took longer and longer as James maintained the high calorie diet needed for the pregnancy. _Man was eating everything in sight._ "Forget something?" he called out.

"Going to the loo."

Robbie hung his head, remembering. _When Val was carrying Lyn we learned where every toilet was in Newcastle._

  


++++

  


Robbie woke up feeling cold. He’d meant to re-weatherize the old windows before they moved in, had never got round to it. The cold seeped in through the old glass. He rolled over, reaching to bring James closer. His hand clutched empty air. He propped himself up on an elbow. Looked beyond the bedclothes across the landing to the bathroom to see if there was a light under the door. Darkness.

He fell back to the pillow. Glanced at the clock. Realized he didn’t have to. In the middle of the night some accident of acoustics that the realtor said was an annoyance—“You can always hear the bells of Oxford.”

Robbie had sold Morse’s Jag that very afternoon knowing that he and James had to have this house and no other. The bells. The tiny stained glass window. Auction. Timing was perfect, given the housing bubble. Prices in the area were beginning to rise. It was perfect.

He lay in bed a moment more, listening. _Two, three, four. Stop._ He got up, threw on robe and slippers and then grabbed the blanket from the end of their bed.

James was in their baby’s room sitting in the dark. He sat in the window seat, knees wide apart and legs drawn to his chest, wrapped in a blanket. Reminded Robbie of a gargoyle, staring over the city like that. James' head lolled against the window as he stared out in the night. “I'm fine. Couldn't sleep. Go back to bed.”

 _Was that a trick of the moonlight?_ Robbie put his hand on James' shoulder, rubbed it. Looking at the man he felt glad he hadn't turned on the light.

James leaned into him, and then gazed up at him, his cheeks wet. "Didn't cry as a child. Met you and it's as if I've saved every tear for you, Robbie."

"'Cause you knew I'd dry them all." Robbie kissed the top of the other man's head. _What's this about, then?_ He tugged his own blanket closer and dropped wearily into the old rocking chair they’d bought at a yard sale. His ankles were cold. Have to put curtains or blinds in the window before the baby comes. He gave the chair an experimental push. The chair made a soft popping noise.

James raised his head and gave Robbie a quizzical look.

"Not me." Robbie rocked the chair again. "It’s the rocking chair."

James mouth curled up at the corner. “We have to fix that.”

Robbie rocked it again. And again. It sounded like muffled farts.

"Here I was, worrying about the future. Puts everything into perspective." James pounded his head gently against the window glass, smiling. "So much for introspection."

"Sat with Val like this. Watched her worry."

James quirked an eyebrow. "And you didn't worry?"

"Not about the right things." Robbie sighed. "Never worried about time. I thought we'd grow old together." He pressed his lips together, trying to find the right words. "James, I know you and I won't have all the time I want. Can't turn back the clock. But I can't worry about it. I don't want either of us to waste the time we have together worrying."

"Little ray of sunshine, you are." James made a face. "I was worrying about the immediate future. Specifically what music to listen to during the birth."

"You can't say that it hasn't crossed your mind."

James nodded, biting his lower lip and looking out the window. "But I'm not worried. I'm still marveling that we're together. That we're going to have a child. I haven't begun to worry yet."

Robbie rocked the chair back and forth.

James' mouth hooked in a grin.

"Come back to bed, man. We'll put all the worries to rest."

  


+++++

  


"Oh, what now?" Robbie stopped, irritated, as James walked quickly around a corner going in the opposite direction from Magdalene College. They were late for an appointment with a witness.

"Loo."

  


++++

  


Laura set her baby gift with the others on the table in the break room. "Sorry I’m late. Where’s James?"

"Everyone yelled surprise when we came in. He lasted a minute or two before making a dash down the hall," said Robbie quietly, mouthing the word: "Loo."

"Poor man needs to go on paternity leave." Jean said with asperity. "Nothing appealing about a man going into labor while still on the job, not to mention the liability issue."

"Says he’ll be bored staying at home." Robbie poured a cup of punch for Laura.

"Well you know how I feel about it," said Laura.

"Aye, I do. Didn’t know my phone could store a text that length." Robbie muttered under his breath.

"Have you settled on a name yet?" Jean wanted to know.

 _Christ, it was like the bleeding Inquisition._ "No. Not giving him eight names just to satisfy Hathaway's pretensions to the monarchy."

"How do you know they're pretensions, Robbie? James might be a hundred and thirtieth in line for the throne. Bears a distinct resemblance to aristocracy." Laura took a small sliver of cake and helped herself to punch.

Robbie rolled his eyes. "Not naming the lad George, Richard, or Ethelred." He brightened as he thought of a way to change the subject. "So I heard you coordinated the book list, Lizzie?"

"Didn’t want five copies of Go Dog Go, so yeah. Had everyone write down what they brought." She pulled out her phone. "Blyton, Milne, Kipling, Dahl. Green Eggs and Ham. Charlotte's Web. Pat the Bunny. Velveteen Rabbit.The Gruffalo.She met his eyes, smiling warmly. The Wind in the Willows.

"Oh, I loved reading that book to Lyn."

"There's a lot of poetry—even a children's book of William Blake."

"Sounds charming."

"Pish Posh Hieronymus Bosch—some of the artwork is amazing. Bunch of clone books: Goodnight Clone, The Very Hungry Clone, Chikka Chikka Clone Clone, Where the Wild Clones Are, that sort of thing. Should have made a list of children's music, though." She handed the phone to Robbie, who scrolled through the list.

"How's that?"

"It's like pop music." Jean Innocent shuddered. "Raffi. Driving to Middlesbrough. 'Baby Beluga' over and over again. It was insidious."

Lizzie rolled her eyes. "Disney music. All of it. And there's that new one—"

"Let it snow, let it snow," chorused Lizzie, Laura, and Jean Innocent, grinning.

Robbie bit his lip to keep from laughing. He had no idea what they were talking about. Hadn't seen an animated film since 'Howl's Moving Castle,' and that was only because James made him watch it. He handed the phone back to Lizzie.

"What was your favorite book, Laura?"

"Never you mind. You’ll see soon enough." She smiled over her cup. "Might not be a book."

"As long as it’s not 'Benjamin Britten’s Young People’s Guide'…" Robbie’s voice trailed off. "No."

Laura nodded.

"That makes three copies, according to Lizzie's list. What’s so special about the 'Young People’s Guide to the Orchestra'?"

James came up behind him and pressed his hands on Robbie’s shoulders. He leaned in to whisper loudly, "No piano. Lots of violin."

"Bloody hell. Are you trying to get the lad killed?"

Hathaway puffed up. "He’ll be a fast runner and good at swinging a cricket bat."

"Bashing in heads and dashing down the street. Had enough of that in Manchester." Robbie cut a huge slice of cake and handed it to James.

"Isn’t that a bit much," Laura commented. "Eating for two, not for everyone."

Robbie smiled to himself as James set Laura straight about the significant calorie and nutritional requirements of maintaining a clone in utero. And Robbie, who had been on the receiving end of these discussions, was enjoying every moment.

"She’s never heard this?" Lizzie whispered. "How did Dr. Hobson miss out on lecture series?"

"As long as she doesn’t ask for supporting evidence…" Robbie’s voice trailed off as James brought out his iPhone. He set down his plate. "Let’s make ourselves scarce."

"Why?"

"Diagrams and YouTube. He’ll be at it for an hour."

+++++

  


"Bloody hell." Robbie re-examined each join of the cot assembly. How could he have screws leftover? You’d think after assembling it at James’ flat and then putting it together again here he’d be missing screws. He sat cross-legged on the floor of the nursery in the new house. He hunched forward straining to see beneath the cot, and felt his back seize up. He arched backward trying to get some relief, craning his neck to stare upward.

The nursery ceiling glowed faintly.

He leaned back. In the dim winter light of late afternoon, parts of the nursery were already in shadow. It was too dark already to read the titles of the children’s books, all neatly alphabetized. He couldn’t see the labels on the organic baby products that James had insisted on buying at Boots. Couldn’t see the patterns on the wee rompers neatly folded on the top of the dresser that served as a changing table. Couldn't really see anything except extra screws in his hand and glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling arranged in constellations.

"James. Could you give me a hand?" he hollered.

James appeared a minute later and applauded softly.

"Daft sod. Not what I meant." Robbie twisted so that he could point. "What’s that?"

James ducked to Robbie’s vantage point to follow his finger. "Ursa Major." He said, smug.

"I meant, what is it doing on the ceiling?"

"Running." James huffed a sigh and he struggled to join Robbie on the floor of the nursery, hitting the floor with an awkward thump as Robbie scooted to make room. "Juno, Jupiter’s wife, transforms the lovely Callisto into a bear. Callisto’s son is hunting and nearly shoots his mother. To save them both, Jupiter puts them both into the sky as Ursa Major and Ursa Minor."

"Just the thing for a baby—adultery and possible matricide. You’re supposed to be resting, not painting the Sistine Chapel."

"Once the baby is born, I won’t have a chance to do this." James leaned back on his elbows to survey his handiwork.

Robbie settled back onto the floor, hand behind his head. "Didn’t know you knew about stars."

"I don’t. Not really." The corner of James’ mouth curled up. "I got lost on the Camino. Spent the night in a field. I was tired, hungry, completely turned around. And then the stars came out. The Milky Way points directly to Santiago de Compostela. It was like a map. Finally I could see the way to go."

"But you didn’t make it to the cathedral, you said."

"I realized the way to go was to come home."

Above their heads, in their baby’s room, they watched the stars come out and listened to the bells of Oxford ring the hours in the distance.

  



	6. Month Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many heartfelt thanks for the wonderful beta work by Atrops_Lee and Dryad. I tinkered with the story since they read it--mistakes are mine.  
> A pregnancy trigger begins here-transverse lie.

**Month Eight**

**As you and your clone gain weight, you may experience a twinge now and again. Back aches, fatigue, swelling feet and ankles, increased urination, and increased appetite are all normal. The movements of your clone will be noticeable and may cause significant discomfort. Don't worry—it's all normal for YOU!**

The obstetrician measured James’ exposed belly and made a note on the smart tablet before rubbing his hands together to warm them. He systematically palpated the upper belly, the sides. Robbie watched, fascinated, as a protuberance moved from one side to the other.

"Transverse," muttered the doctor, pushing gently on one side.

"Fuck," James arched off the exam table, grimacing. "Sorry. Should it hurt?"

"I’ll get a nurse." The doctor hurried from the room.

Robbie’s head whipped around to watch the door close. His eyes widened as he turned back to James. "What’s that mean?"

"Another person will be joining us." James had his mobile out, scrolling rapidly through a website.

"No." Robbie failed to keep the irritation from his voice. "What does that mean? Why is he getting help? Is the baby all right?"

James sat up straighter. "I think I’d know if something was wrong with him."

Robbie rolled his eyes. Looked at the floor. Stared at his toes. "How?"

James cocked his head, questioning.

"How would you know, James? Are you, I don’t know, in telepathic contact with your clone?"

James placed his hands protectively over his belly, frowning.

"See, because this is my—" Robbie felt his face pinch with concern. "It’s our boy, my son too. Least that’s how I feel about him and you. It’s never good when the doctor runs out of the room--"

James sat up, reaching for Robbie's hand. "It'll be fine." He rubbed Robbie’s arm, tugging him close. Both men pressed their hands against James's belly, reassured by their son's movements. The doctor reentered the room with the paternity nurse in tow.

"We’re going to do another ultrasound today," the nurse said, soothingly, placing a band across James’ belly to hold the fetal monitoring device in place. "We’ll monitor the baby’s heart rate in here till the other equipment is free. Be twenty, thirty minutes." He placed a hand on James shoulder and gently took away the iPhone James was using to look up information on ‘transverse presentation.’

The nurse gave the mobile to Robbie. "He doesn’t need that and neither do you. We’re just checking to see if the baby has enough room to turn by himself or if he’s going to need a little help."

"You think it might require Leopold maneuvers?" asked James. A line appeared between his eyebrows. His frown deepened.

Robbie knew that line, knew the frown, and knew that James was well and truly on his way to being coldly unemotional, trying to establish control by becoming an expert. He could almost see the man become prickly. Probably insist on doing whatever it was himself.

The doctor and the nurse shared a look. "We’ll make that determination after the ultrasound."

"There are other techniques to coax the baby into position. Application of cold packs, heat packs. Could we try an inversion table?"

"Next you’ll want to be in a swimming pool trying to stand on your head." The doctor smiled at his own joke.

Robbie said, defensively. "If that’s what he wants and it doesn’t hurt the baby, why not?"

James, the doctor, and the nurse stared at him.

"Ultrasound first, you said?" Regretting his minor outburst, Robbie rubbed the back of his neck. "And monitoring in the meantime?" He dropped his hand, trying to sound reasonable rather than panicked. _James is methodical, always gathers every bit of evidence before rushing to a conclusion. So it must be serious if he's searching for a solution without gathering all the facts._

"I’ll be back in a few minutes." The doctor gave a bemused nod as he left the room.

Graphing tape spit out of the fetal monitor, slipping through the nurse’s fingers. He pointed to peaks and valleys. "Heartbeats. Your son is fine." He turned up the sound. The whoosh-whoosh of a heart beat filled the room. "He’s just lying the wrong way."

"Atta-way, Hathaway," murmured Robbie. "Ta," he added, as the man closed the door. "Think that’s going to help? Arse over teakettle in a pool?"

Hathaway folded his arms, chewed the inside of his cheek. He pursed his lips, raising his eyebrows—a question mark.

Robbie pulled him into an awkward hug.

A few minutes later it was even worse. The doctor came back in with a smart tablet. And references, which showed he knew James fairly well. Younger men, the doctor explained, have more elasticity in the structures grown to support gestation. With men in their mid-to late thirties, the risk grows with projected height and weight of the fetus. If they weren’t able to turn the baby, they’d have to deliver early. At thirty-six weeks, the baby was viable and probably wouldn’t have to spend much time in the neonatal unit.

The C-section itself had a higher rate of complications than a standard C-section due to the complexity of the supporting gestational structure men required.

Or the baby might snap the supporting ligaments, risking paralysis to the lower extremities. The doctor pulled up a graphic on the tablet. The support structure of tendons and ligaments was grown in gossamer strands along the pelvis and anchored in spots to intervertebral fibrocartilage. Nerves running through those spaces in the vertebra terminated in the cauda equina, the nerve bundle at the base of the spine. Paralysis was a known risk factor in male pregnancy.

This was the first Robbie had heard of it. James nodded coolly. _How the bloody hell had he not mentioned **that** before,_ wondered Robbie.

The doctor gave them a minute or two to absorb the information before continuing. "Several factors work in our favor here." He addressed James. "You are healthy, fit. We’ll talk again after we do the ultrasound. There may be enough room for the baby to turn head down and we won't have to give this another thought." He was about to hand them the smart tablet and stylus and then stopped. "Do either of you have any other questions?"

Robbie sighed. They’d be in here for weeks if James was given an opportunity to discuss the options. He stared at his hand, holding James’ hand. He hadn’t realized he’d taken it. He glanced up.

James was just looking at him. Not lost, not at all. It was like he’d made a decision and he expected Robbie to know precisely what that decision was and he was waiting for that verification. As if holding hands made them of one mind.

_Bugger it._

"No more questions. Let’s get the information we need from that ultrasound," said Robbie, meeting James’ gaze and hoping that was the right answer. He relaxed, seeing the corners of James’ mouth curl up and feeling James squeeze his hand. _Jumped that hurdle,_ he thought.

He hoped the next one would be as easy.

  


++++++

  


"James! Dammit to hell, man, I am not ‘giving in’—I want to!"

"Where’s the heating pad?"

"James—"

"No. We can try cold to drive the baby one way and heat to keep him—" James spread his hands on the edge of the counter and hunched over. "It'll be fine." He stood up. "And if that doesn’t work, I’m going down to that fucking pool tonight and stand on my head!"

"That’s when I knew. Seeing you in the pool that day."

"Sorry, what?" James opened the freezer, rummaged around. "Why don’t we have any frozen peas?"

"Pet—" 

"You know, that’s—that’s demeaning. Pet. Not your pet, Robbie. Thought I was your partner, I thought—I don’t know what I thought, but—" He slammed the freezer door. "I’m going out. We need frozen peas or an ice pack."

"Hathaway! Sit down!"

Robbie's voice was too loud in the confines of their small kitchen.

"I know you want to help. And I want you to help. I guess I imagined—" James huffed a sigh. "I thought you wanted us to be more than housemates. I Know I did." He pushed past Robbie.

"I do." Robbie came up behind him. "But I don’t want to hurt you."

James stared at the floor, chewing the inside of his cheek, face red. "Are you planning to leave?" He turned to pin Robbie with his gaze.

 _Where did that come from?_ "No, I’m not going anywhere—"

"The only way you could hurt me is to leave."

"Not leaving. It's just that--," Robbie stammered, "I’m waiting until—Jesus, man—you’re pregnant!"

Hathaway leaned back against the kitchen counter and spread his arms, his head cocked as if Robbie was an idiot for stating the obvious.

Robbie certainly felt like an idiot.

"Robert. Saying to the doctor, 'Do we have to have sex?' was not supportive." James' mouth was a thin line, barely hiding the hurt.

"James, I only meant that it will wait. We can wait. We should wait.”

"Why?" Hathaway folded his arms, resting them on the ‘shelf’ of his swollen belly. Waiting.

Robbie leaned against the wall opposite the man, and folded his arms as well, unconsciously mirroring the defensiveness of his partner. All it had taken was the suggestion that they go home and try alternatives to see if the baby would move on his own given the chance.

"Try hot and cold packs first," the doctor had said. "You can cautiously try a gentle incline in a pool, see if that helps. And obviously, try sexual intercourse again."

Oh, obviously. Since the doctor implied that was what had happened in the first place for the baby to wind up in that position. Except that it hadn’t, because they were taking it slow, very slow.

Frustrating for both of them, that's what it was.

Robbie was too afraid of physically hurting James who was eight months along. James, for his part, wanted to make sure he wasn’t ‘forcing’ Robbie into a sexual relationship.

Of course they didn’t actually say that. It was all subtext: huffs, caresses, and sighs. Kissing, cuddling, fondling over clothing and the minute it got heated one or the other of them would shut it down, almost as if they were taking turns demurring like vestal virgins.

 _Nothing like wanting the man you love, him wanting you, and both of you afraid to do a damn thing about it,_ Robbie thought, sourly.

And of course they couldn't talk about it. Not seriously. Not yet.

And not that they had declared their undying love either. He'd only spoken those words to Val and his children. He and Laura—well, it never seemed like the right thing to say. He and James—it hadn't seemed like the right time yet. And James knew already, didn't he? Not like he had to talk about it.

So now was definitely not the right time. James wouldn't believe him, for one thing.

"Said it before. I’m afraid of hurting you. Can’t lose you, James. Can’t lose the baby. Just can’t." Robbie pushed away from the wall, grabbed his keys from the table. Feeling resigned, beaten, misunderstood. "Right, then. Frozen peas. Plastic bags so you can make an ice pack when the peas thaw. Lube and condoms. We need anything else?"

James followed him out, grabbing their coats, and locking the door. "What did you say?"

Robbie stopped, turned. "Frozen peas, plastic bags, lube and condoms." He cupped James’ cheek as he passed him.

"What? No swimming in the middle of December? No chasing our baby with frozen vegetables?" James reached out and pulled Robbie close. "You want this? Us, I mean. You're not just giving in?"

"Bloody hell, man. I want to. You want to. The doctor wants us to. Even the baby wants us to."

"Are you sure?"

Robbie shook his head slightly, disbelieving and tired. He'd spent hours on his feet, worrying. Felt like he was getting a headache. And that would surely go over well at this point given that he'd just made a commitment. "Are you?"

"I do not believe this." James threw his head back and stared at the stars. "Yes. Absolutely. Robbie. Yes."

"Well." Robbie thrust his hands in his pockets. _Stalling._ "Too cold to go out. Don’t really need it for what I have in mind, at least for a start." _Not sure what we'd do with it in the future, either._

“Waited for eight years. Not waiting another fucking minute,” James was muttering, already passing him on his way to the car. He turned. “Did you just say you have something in mind?”

"Something wrong with your hearing?"

"I want to make sure that I'm hearing this correctly because I don't believe it."

"So you said." Robbie pressed his lips together. "I want—"

"You want what?" James interrupted, returning to his side.

"I want—"

"What?"

"I want you, soft lad."

James pulled his keys from pocket, dropping them in his haste to unlock the door to get back inside. "Fuck. Can you bend over and get those?"

++

"I'm sorry, love," groaned Robbie, lying on their bed with a heating pad against the small of his back and a rolled up pillow beneath his raised knees.

James brought in the ibuprofen and a glass of water in one hand, ice cubes wrapped in a towel in the other. A blanket was draped over one arm. He wore his glasses, old track suit, huge sweatshirt, warm thermal socks. He stood beside the bed, staring down at Robbie with a wry look on his face. The corner of his mouth quirked up. There was a glint in his eye.

"Don't start," begged Robbie.

"The lengths you go to just to avoid me." James spread his arms wide, turning sideways to show off the heavy curve of his belly. "Doesn't my body drive you wild with desire?"

"Don’t—" Robbie chuckled. "Don't make me laugh. It hurts. Jesus. What's that from, then?"

 _"Cabaret."_ " James climbed into bed, arranging the blanket over the two of them. He sighed theatrically and put the cold pack on one side of his belly.

"I'm sorry, pet," whispered Robbie.

"I know." James slid closer so that he could hold Robbie's hand. "I know."

  


++++

  


Robbie had come home at three in the morning and showered in the hottest water he could stand wishing he could wash away the feeling of scum that seemed to cling to him after being locked in the interview room with the suspected killer. Listening to the man crow about his accomplishments, seven women dead. Was there a theme, a motive, some chilling rationale to the murders?

_No, the guy just felt like it._

Killer had been careless on the last one, left a partial print.

Robbie thought of it as a gift.

Hadn’t given a second thought to gifts, Christmas. James had sent something to Lyn and her partner. Got something for Jack off the internet. Took care of it all because of the case. Robbie had no idea what James had bought. Not that he didn’t care; he simply hadn’t had the time or energy. Hadn’t been at home.

Hadn’t been able to pick up a tree. Hadn’t shopped.

First Christmas together and it had all the makings of his first Christmas with Val. He'd been on a case, then too.

He hung his head in the shower, letting the water and steam rise. A sudden draught gave him the shivers.

James peeked in the bathroom door. “Robbie?”

“Needed a wash.” Robbie heard the sound of rustling. James pulled aside the shower curtain and stepped carefully into the shower with him, big with child. Barely room to turn.

“You needed company.”

Robbie huffed a nervous laugh. “Feels like a crowd.”

He realized, with a horrified start, that he never really seen James naked. And James had never seen him. Seen bits and pieces, of course, the way one does, changing clothes. And at the doctors since he'd been to every visit. Knew every inch of the man's back and belly. But he'd never. Not all the way. And here was James acting for all the world like they showered together every day.

_Bloody hell._

James gathered him in, holding him awkwardly because of the baby between them. Robbie couldn't even think, except to realize that he hardly looked good in the bright bathroom light, dripping soap and shampoo. And he had his arms full of a naked man. And right now, he was too exhausted to care. It was enough that James wanted to be with him. _Hadn't snuggled properly in—what day was it?_

"Not at me best right now," Robbie managed, tiredly. "Spent all night listening to a sociopath." He let his head fall against James' neck.

James clasped his hands behind Robbie's head and hummed against his shoulder. "I spent all afternoon throwing up. And your son—"

"— ** _my_** son?"

"When he is pummeling my back, he's yours."

Robbie chuckled. He moved so that he could hold James more closely. "Couple of weeks, pet." He turned James around in his arms. "Hand me the soap and that loofah thing and I'll wash your back."

James braced his arms against the shower wall. "So—sociopath?"

Robbie soaped up the loofah. "Glad the baby can't understand us. Yeah, sociopath." He worked in circles across James' strong shoulders, working up lather. _Working up a lather meself. Aw, Christ. Not the time for this. Needed to release tension, that's all._

He had rubbed the man's back before, had kneaded the muscles, and could now name them all. But he had never gone past a certain point. He stood to one side, reached, worked in circles, inching his way below that point, along the curve of bum and thigh.

"Robbie."

"Yeah, I know." Robbie was hard. James was hard. Not a new thing for either of them.

_Being naked and not backing down. That was new._

Robbie washed James' bum slowly, putting a bit of muscle behind it, and then, grinning to himself, he squeezed the loofah to dribble down the crack of James' ass. Teasing, because that's what they did. Never anything serious.

"Fuck," breathed James. He dropped his head to the tile.

Robbie did it again, and then sluiced hot warm water with his bare hand skimming the surface of James' skin. The pleasure of flesh against flesh brought it home. This was no joke. Not a time for teasing.

It was intensely real.

"God." James held himself up with one hand against the tile.

The baby bulge was in the way, so Robbie couldn't see, not as well as he wanted, but he had an idea what James was doing with his other hand.

He cleared his throat, not really sure what James wanted. Not sure what he wanted either. If James had been—no, that wasn't fair. He would have been just as confused no matter who he was standing in the shower with. He wasn't a bloody mind reader.

"Not stopping," panted James, blushing furiously. "Sorry."

 _Right._ On the same wavelength, then. He touched himself experimentally, wishing that his hand was elsewhere, wishing James was bolder.

But he could do this. It was James, after all. Robbie slid his hand beneath the man's hard belly. He stood with his front to James' side, and allowed his hand to venture lower, feeling James' hand pumping—

James huffed and reached for Robbie, one arm across his shoulders, the other--

Robbie sighed in relief at the feeling of James' inexpert fumbling until, together, they established a stroking rhythm. Didn't take nearly as long as either might have wanted.

James' breath caught and held, his head craned back, the line of his neck and shoulder a perfect arch. His body slumped. He dipped his head against the tile as if in mourning.

Robbie murmured against James' shoulder.

"We need a lot more practice," James whispered.

Robbie nodded, planting kisses on the juncture of James' neck and shoulder. "New meaning to the word 'coxswain.'"

James barked a laugh. "Good on you!"

They stood in the steam and hot water, their foreheads pressed together, until the water ran cold.


	7. Month Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, many thanks to Atropos_lee and Dryad for Brit-pick, beta and support.  
> Pregnancy triggers in end notes.

**Month Nine**

**In the final weeks before delivery, you may experience a sudden burst of energy known as ‘the nesting instinct’.’ This is nature’s way of preparing the world for the birth of a whole new YOU!**

Two weeks before Christmas James was forcibly put on paternity leave for medical reasons.

Total bed rest until delivery. He was to go to the local clinic for fetal monitoring every other day. Was only allowed on his feet two hours total per day.

Because the baby had gone transverse again and they both knew why. Had to do with their new found stress reduction plan: sexual activity.

 _Guess we have quite a bit of stress,_ Robbie admitted to himself.

The baby went from transverse to head down depending on the day and his mood, it seemed. He liked to launch himself against James’ kidneys. He flexed and straightened as if he was rowing. They were still learning each other's bodies; making love seemed to involve considering the baby which seemed wrong on so many levels that they'd given up.

Willingly.

And then the baby suddenly stopped moving. No longer transverse, he had ‘engaged’ and seemed stuck.

He barely kicked. Robbie got a frantic text, then another, and then they were back at the clinic. After that ultrasound, they were sent home with a kick chart on a mobile app to count the baby’s movements.

Now that the baby was head down on the straight and narrow, so were they until after delivery.

To top it off, the Christmas season ushered in a suspected serial killer.

So while Robbie had the intellectual distraction of a nice juicy case, James was reading baby books aloud so the baby would know the sound of his voice. He'd begun to knit—baby hats, baby blanket. A misshapen infant sweater. Robbie would bring home information about the case, the suspects; James couldn’t focus on anything other than the baby. 

Robbie dropped the shopping bags to the floor so that he shake the rain off his coat and hang it up. “Is something burning, pet?”

“Shit.” James hoisted himself off the couch and rushed into the kitchen. He pushed the pan away from the burner and turned off the stove. He slumped with his back against the kitchen counter and hung his head. “Sorry.” He folded his arms, resting them on the shelf that the baby made. His lips were a tight line.

Robbie glanced at the browned mass in the pan. Something with vegetables. _Stir fry and sauce?_ Didn’t look too bad to him, but James wouldn’t eat it. Knew the poor man was distracted. If James didn’t set the timer on his mobile, he’d forget he’d started cooking. 'Course that meant he had to recall where he left his mobile and he was constantly setting it down or losing it. He’d told Robbie that it was his subconscious trying to put aside the responsibilities of work. Robbie told him it was 'baby brain' and they’d left it at that. So James started writing himself little notes: doctor appointments, shopping lists, who to call. And—most important—where he was most likely to leave his mobile.

Robbie took out his mobile and rang James. The house was silent.

"No charge." James shook his head slightly, staring at the floor. His cheeks were pink.

Robbie reached for him, standing behind him so that he could hold him close. He nuzzled the nape of James’ neck.

"Your nose is cold," James observed.

"Means I’m healthy." Robbie pressed a brief kiss against James’ neck. "How does pizza sound?"

"Like it did on Tuesday." James pulled away and picked up a note from the counter. Read it with exaggerated care. "Lyn called. Jack liked his Christmas gift."

Robbie dropped his arms and sighed. "Didn't know what he wanted." He started putting away the groceries. "What did we get him and why did he open it early?" Robbie opened the freezer. There were plastic containers labeled in Laura’s handwriting. "Laura came by?"

"Yeah, didn't stay though. I think I frighten her. Lyn and Tim will be with his parents since you and I aren’t going to be there for Christmas—didn't want to carry gifts with them."

Robbie nodded, trying to make room in the freezer. Lentil soup, stew. "Did we get Jack those books?"

"Yeah. And a few other things." James’ walked out of the room, continuing to talk.

"What was that? James?" Robbie put away the remaining groceries. _Needed to clean out the fridge. Needed to call Lyn. Needed to call for pizza. Needed a shower._ He went into the sitting room where James had the laptop open, using Skype to talk with someone, and went up the stairs.

The tiny stained glass window in the staircase—one of the many reasons he liked the place—was leaking. They'd spotted the leak a month ago, put it on a James' list of 'do it yourself' projects. Now there was a towel soaking up the steady stream of rain dribbling inside the glass onto the windowsill. Robbie huffed a sigh, continuing up the stairs.

Their bedroom was pleasantly warm, comfy. Monty was curled up asleep at the foot of the bed. James must have drawn the curtains to keep in the heat. _House feels chilly. Must be the rain. James had finally put away that damn mirror that made the room look larger. Said he didn't need to be reminded of how much running he'd be doing to get back into shape._ "We're going to get weights, Robbie."

Robbie, on his way to shower, had nodded and then had a good laugh. Man didn't have a clue how little time they were going to have after the baby came.

And that had been a month ago when they still felt as if they could manage the job, the house, the baby, and themselves.

He went across the landing to the bathroom and turned on the shower. Waited for hot water. Waited.

"James!"

+++

"I couldn't call the plumber because I couldn't find my mobile."

"Right. Well, email? Web? Courier pigeon? Couldn't you use the Twitter?" Robbie was on hold. The bloody boiler was out. The house was tolerable now, but it was still early in the evening. It would be mighty cold by morning.

"The Twitter?" James quirked an eyebrow. "I emailed you because, interestingly enough, plumbers don't read their email. Or use The Twitter, as you put it." There was snark in his voice. James swiveled the laptop toward Robbie. "Despite having instant connectivity according to their websites, not one returned a call. And you never answered your email."

"Told you before I was out on the case. And that we should get a regular phone for the house."

James folded his arms. "It is a waste of money to have a regular phone if we have mobile phones."

"Says the man who can't find his mobile." Robbie said, tiredly. He reached over and rubbed James' knee, a conciliatory gesture. "I'll help you look for it."

"If I lose my mobile and you are not checking email on your mobile, how am I supposed to tell you if the baby is coming?" James said with asperity.

"Don't we have an appointment for that? The C-section? I've taken time—" his voice trailed off. James face was stony.

"What if something happens?" James said softly, eyes almost teary. "I feel so fucking useless." He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "I can't _**do**_ anything. First at Cambridge. Can't find my bloody mobile."

Robbie pulled him into a hug.

+++

  


James pushed his glasses up on his nose. "How does _Die Hard_ qualify as a Christmas movie?" They had gone through a few of James' favorite films: _Lawrence of Arabia, The English Patient, Love Actually._ And now, Christmas Eve, they were on Christmas movies.

"Could watch _The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance_ again. Pilgrim." Robbie tucked a blanket around them both as they snuggled on the couch.

"It's the triumph of good over evil, that's why you like Westerns. _Die Hard_ fits."

"Well, it's got a tree. A party. Guns. Bruce Willis. Alan Rickman. Explosions."

"Oh, loads to recommend it, then. Very Christmas-y." He settled back against Robbie, who squirmed, getting comfortable.

Someone pounded on the door.

Startled, James sat up suddenly, elbowing Robbie in the stomach. "Bloody fucking hell!"

"Deck the hall with boughs of holly--"

"Just carolers," Robbie said, opening the door. A Christmas tree filled the doorway. "Surprise," he said weakly.

"More enthusiasm, Robbie!" Jean Innocent's voice came from somewhere behind the branches. "And a little help, please."

Robbie picked up the tree, moving it to the corner of the room near the television. Four feet tall, with a little stand, fairy lights, and—

"It's real." James said, taking a deep breath. Fir tree scent filled the room. Odd how certain scents transport you through time. He saw himself, age five perhaps, hanging an ornament on the tree in the Great Hall at CreveCoeur and someone urging him to put it higher, stretching to put it where he didn't want it to go. He must have got an odd look on his face.

"You all right, man?"

"This is lovely," James managed, choking up. He stood there, feeling awkward. _Too kind, far too kind._ He hesitated, and then bent to kiss Jean on the cheek.

"Well." She cocked her head, surprised. "Get back on the couch," she ordered. "Dropping this off on my way home."

"Decorations." She held out up a bag, inviting them look inside. "It's not much, but we did try."

Robbie beamed. He held up a long chain of colored paperclips. "Well, I can use these."

There was an odd assortment of office-made ornaments in the bag. "It took on a life of its own," she explained. "Robbie mentioned not having a tree this morning and then Lizzie went round asking everyone to make a decoration." Jean held up an origami crane made from a blank arrest form. "Gurdip is very creative."

"Lizzie made this—" Jean held up a tiny square that read: Pub Original Pork Cracklings. "There are a few others here like that—artwork on the color printer. Photo of a large prawn—that's Julie's. An empty pack of cigarettes filled with chocolates—not sure who that's from." She frowned and shook her head slightly. "Oh, this is cute. From Hooper." She handed James a miniature teddy bear, the kind one might get in a Christmas cracker. "No idea why he had that in his desk."

She pulled a long string of shiny metal cylinders from the bag.

"Are those shell casings? From ballistics?"

Jean nodded, curious. "It does make one wonder what he would do with them if he wasn't making a decoration. SOCO sent these—" she held up several pairs of purple gloves that had been blown up and knotted at the bottom. "—I had no idea we had such an enterprising crew. And this is mine."

It was an angel. Pleats in pale blue office paper made up the skirt, stapled to a cone made from an evidence folder. Wings from white paper were taped to the cone. The angel's face was drawn toward the top of the cone: she wore a smile and had red circles on her cheeks. A paperclip halo completed the ornament. Jean placed it on the top of the tree with a satisfied sigh. "Couldn't find any yellow paper for a star." 

James was surprised when Robbie gave him a one-armed hug, keeping his hand on James' shoulder. It wasn't something they did, showing affection in front of others, certainly not in front of people from the nick and certainly not in front of their boss.

Jean finished draping crime scene tape over the tree as if it was a garland, stepping back to admire the effect. "It's festive, in its own way. Laura sent along a dessert, too, before she and Franco went off to the airport."

"Plum pudding?" Robbie guessed.

"No. It's a jam roly-poly. Pathologist's favorite, she said." She rolled her eyes, a long suffering expression on her face. "Dead Man's Arm."

+++

  


Christmas day dawned without presents under the tiny tree.

James woke up to the sound of bells and the feeling of Monty nudging his hand.

They’d spent so much money on the baby, the house, everything really, that they’d agreed on no gifts this year. _So, nothing to do. Listen to music since holding and playing the guitar was awkward. Watch telly. Knit. Chart the baby's movements. Gestate._

James stretched in bed, happy at least that Robbie was home. The Angelus bells were ringing Lauds for Christmas. He missed midnight Mass. He wanted to talk about the latest case, wanted to hear Robbie talk about the pieces of evidence. His thoughts were scattered, unfocused.

He put on his glasses, hoping that would help.

Monty pushed into his hand again.

_Right. Feed the cat. Oh, and turkey. Having turkey for our first Christmas dinner._

Robbie snuffled in his sleep.

James was overcome with fondness for the man. _So blessed to have you in my life. Our lives,_ he amended. He kissed Robbie's temple softly and was rewarded with the hint of a smile.

He went into the kitchen intent on getting the turkey ready to put in the oven. He opened the fridge. _Shit. No bird._ It was still in the freezer. How did he forget to thaw the damn bird? He pulled it out, feeling a sharp ping circle around his middle from the effort. Sixteen pounds of frozen poultry. Plenty of leftovers, Robbie had said. They'd be eating Christmas turkey till Easter.

But he'd be eating it with Robbie and their son.

He felt lighter, then, buoyed by the phrase: Robbie and their son. Thought again of a few months ago, the two of them on the floor in that damn required childbirth class listening to everyone 'hee' and 'hoo' on cue. Robbie sitting behind him, hands on James' belly, the two of them trying not to laugh.

Gary the childbirth counselor had squatted beside them. "Your heart isn't in this, but it should be."

"Hee," James said, sarky. Robbie chuckled into his shoulder.

Gary had given them a mild look. "You're a cop. Ever been shot?"

"Yeah," James said, meeting his eyes, daring him.

"Childbirth is worse. I carried two clones to term—went into labor before the C-section. Gentlemen, I was in Iraq, wounded in combat. Labor is worse. Far worse."

"He can handle it," Robbie has said, loyally. "I'll be there."

And James had melted into Robbie feeling as if he could anything as long as Robbie was with him. He'd have their son. Hell, he'd have Robbie's clone. He'd have all the babies and he'd feed them turkey…

…And he was losing his mind. Truly. If there was a quote, a poem, a metaphor about brain fog and the last few months of pregnancy, he couldn't think of it.

James filled the kitchen sink with cold water and put in the bird. He’d change the water in an hour, turn the bird. He looked for his mobile to set an alarm. Where the hell had he left his mobile this time? They’d eat later than he wanted, but it’s not as if they had other things to do.

Almost seemed sad, this first Christmas together with just the two of them. He thought of future Christmas dinners with their son and Robbie's family. _Next year, a party. A huge dinner with a roast and Brussel sprouts. An exotic salad—Lyn would like that. Mince tarts. Make gingerbread men--Jack can help decorate them. We'd get nice Christmas crackers…_

_Did Robbie get Christmas crackers? Had that been on the list?_

He looked around the tiny kitchen and then glanced into the sitting room. They'd left the fairy lights on all night. The little tree sparkled in the corner. _Probably lucky it didn't catch on fire and ignite residual gunpowder on the shell casings._

But no Christmas crackers on the coffee table. Nothing in the kitchen. _Well. Next year, then._ What else had he left off the list? Stuffing. No worries, they had bread—no. Shorter cooking time and healthier. Fine. Vegetables? Brussel sprouts? No. There was no lettuce, no tomatoes.

No sausage. Nor eggs, cheese, bacon, milk. _Bloody hell—hadn't Robbie gone shopping this week?_

He opened the freezer. Five bags of frozen peas, ice packs, two cartons of ice cream, and a frozen fruitcake.

He'd let Robbie sleep. He hadn't slept well—the Dead Man's Arm had been too rich. He smiled to himself, thinking of Laura and how happy she was with Franco, who was always ready to pack up and travel at a moment's notice. He didn't snore, she confided to James, patting his arm sympathetically. James didn't have the heart to tell her that Robbie didn't snore in their bed. It was probably the pillows, but he liked to think that it was because Robbie was truly happy.

And he was truly happy. They didn't need Christmas crackers. He opened the fridge. They had oh, an empty pizza box, two take away containers from days ago, a soft tomato, and a bag of lettuce that had somehow become frozen. He opened the pantry cupboard. They had herbal tea, five different kinds of sugar, flour, six jars of curry and an entire shelf of various organic beans he couldn't bring himself to eat.

There were no Doritos.

He felt a ping circle around his belly and up his back. _Braxton-Hicks contractions. Yeah. Should probably go back to bed._

But they did need to get in groceries. If only for Robbie. He didn't feel very well. Little nausea. Maybe they could go out to eat.

There had been an advert for a new place serving lunch on Christmas Day, _prix fixe_ menu. He needed his mobile to make reservations. _Where the hell is my mobile? Can't wake up Robbie to tell him I've lost it again._

That’s when he felt the first real pain, the intensity of which sent him to his knees on the kitchen floor.

“Robbie!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pregnancy triggers: kick counts, non-routine fetal monitoring, mandated bed rest.
> 
> Dryad suggested this great website for pregnancy and fertility issues: www.stirrup-queens.com.


	8. Birth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Dryad and Atropos_lee for Brit-pick, beta-read, and support.
> 
> Labor and delivery warnings apply to this section. Specific triggers listed in chapter end notes.

**Birth**

**Is the nursery ready? Check! Is your hospital bag packed? Check! Is there food in the fridge? Check! Car seat strapped in and ready to go? Check!**

**You're having a clone! YOU!**

**For men, most hospitals will encourage a little bit of labor to help the baby push fluid out of its lungs. There is some minor discomfort. You may feel pain from your coccyx to the top of your spine as the supporting gestational structure bends and stretches along every nerve fiber in your body. Breathing exercises will help, as will an understanding birth partner. Make sure to tell your birthing assistant that you may experience a gamut of emotions ranging from intense sorrow to irrational agitation to uncontrollable rage. You may vomit, fight, swear, and want to leave—all at the same time.**

**This is all normal! Relax and enjoy the process of bringing yourself into the world…it's YOU!**

**You’ll find extensive helpful checklists on pages 322 through 480 that will simplify the process as YOU come home.**

"Could you help me sit up, please?" James managed. "The strap for this thing is—"

Robbie disconnected the monitor and eased his partner up into a sitting position. They'd barely checked in when the next wave of contractions started. The nurse was patient, explaining that it was vastly different for men since the baby couldn't go anywhere. "Don't want a scene like that from _Alien_ ," she said, chipper and enthusiastic. "No exploding stomachs here."

Robbie and James had looked at her in horror.

"C'mon then," she clucked. "It will be fine. We'll get you in as soon as we can." She smiled encouragement. "Relax and breathe."

"You forget the pain." Robbie said, helpfully. "Val said she barely remembered having Lynn, and Mark—"

"Much as I love your kids, Robbie, now is not the time." James eased himself off the bed. He faced the bed, leaning against it with spread arms. "Shit, my back." He took a deep breath and huffed.

Robbie put his hands on either side of James’ spine and pushed hard enough to move both James and the bed a foot closer to the wall. "Sorry."

James huffed and hoo-ed in response.

The nurse ducked in. "No, Mr. Hathaway, the monitor needs to stay on in case of fetal distress."

"What about parental distress," James bit out.

+

"I should be able to handle this. And I can't." James' face was a grim mask. He huffed, as he was supposed to, and huffed again.

"Aw, pet—" Robbie began.

"You—call—me—pet—" Hathaway huffed, "—one—more—time—and—I’ll—wrap—a—fucking—collar—around—your—neck. Monty--is—our--pet." He made a few hooo—ing noises, ending with a whoosh.

"That was a bad one, but we’ll get through this. A trial of labor is good for the baby." The doctor’s eyes were kind above the mask. She slid her gloved hands beneath the drape over Hathaway’s belly. "The baby is positioned nicely for the C-section. Just another twenty, thirty minutes or so till the operating room is free again. Lots of babies born today." She checked the fetal monitor, gave James' arm a reassuring squeeze and left the room.

" 'M sorry, Robbie. I know 'pet' is what you call the ones you love. Your family. And you can call me whatever you like. Robbie? Robbie!" James winced. He squirmed on the narrow bed, forehead beaded with sweat. "Don't care. As long as you help me get up." He pushed himself up.

"You need to stay put," Robbie laid his hands on James' shoulders. "Can’t roam the halls."

"Robbie." James' fingers bit hard into Robbie's arm. "I cannot do this."

Robbie sighed. He couldn’t do it either. Had no idea what it would be like, having a baby with this man. On one hand, he was chuffed beyond measure—a baby! At his age! On the other hand, he remembered the sleepless nights, the crying, the colic. _Oh, Lord, the colic._

He wasn’t sure about wanting a baby at the moment. _What had they been thinking?_ He was only sure that he wanted the man who was glaring at him and beginning to huff again.

+

Robbie pressed a flannel to James' forehead. James panted shallowly, barely audible. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck."

"Pretty sure that wasn't in the birthing manual," quipped Robbie. "Keep breathing like that, love, and you'll pass out."

"How I feel. Right now." James panted. "Hoping I'll pass out."

"What can I do?"

James shook his head. Gritted his teeth. Inhaled deeply.

"You're doing great, love."

James closed his eyes. "Why didn't you talk me out of this? I'm just going to screw it up."

"Are you comfortable? Want some help up?"

"Far from comfortable." James held onto Robbie's shoulders and let Robbie pull him to sitting position. He slid off the bed standing beside it. He bent over, put his elbows on the bed, arched his back: once, twice. "Let's take a walk and hunt down the nurse with the pain killers." Then he threw up onto the bed.

"I'll go find the nurse—" Robbie began, one hand trailing over James back as he turned to go.

James' arm shot out, his hand grasped Robbie's arm like a clamp. "Don't go. Please stay with me." He didn't look at Robbie. "Don't leave. Can't do this without you."

Robbie returned to stand behind him, holding him. He pressed a kiss to James' sweaty neck. "Not going anywhere, then. Not leaving." He put one arm across James' chest, holding him upright while he kneaded James' lower back with his other hand. James sank into the embrace, shifting his weight onto Robbie.

 _He trusts that I'll support him,_ thought Robbie, amazed. "Not going anywhere."

+

"What do you feel?" asked the anesthesiologist.

Robbie watched as she pinched and pricked and poked James from below his shoulders to his toes.

"Nothing. S’wonderful." James was grinning, ear to ear.

 _So unusual to see him smiling. Happy._ "Higher than a kite," Robbie remarked.

"Love you too," said James. " 'Having our baby. What a lovely way of saying how much I love you,' " he sang. " 'Yes, sir, that’s my baby. No sir, don’t mean maybe.' "

Robbie huffed a laugh. "Be happy I’m not recording this."

"Get my mobile. Nurse’ll show you how. 'When you're with me, baby the skies will be blue for all my life. So happy together!' "

"Not embarrassing you." Robbie leaned in close, watched as James tried to focus. He wondered what he looked like, paper cap on his head, mask over his mouth. James had the same silly cap, was draped from head to toe. Getting him into the operating room had been a godsend. Didn't know how much more either of them could take.

"Mini me." James smiled happily. "I’m having a mini me. It’s a do-over, Robbie. I’ll fix myself."

"Nothing wrong with you except you’re a smart arse." Robbie settled on the stool beside the operating table. "They’re going to start soon."

"They won’t let me watch."

"Don’t want you scarred for life. That’s my job. To watch over you."

"Good. Need someone to watch over me. Like the song." James closed his eyes, and said, dreamily, "Gonna make love and scream your name. Shhhh. Wake the baby."

Robbie looked up in alarm, embarrassed, hoping no one was nearby.

"We hear everything," said the anesthesiologist kindly. "One fellow told us his plan for murdering his wife."

"Not killing anyone. Police will get you." James murmured. Then, startled, he opened his eyes. "Fuck!"

"Did you feel something? Are you in pain?" The doctor wanted to know, scalpel poised for a deeper cut.

"Left the turkey in the sink." Hathaway looked stricken.

"Aw, pet. No worries."

"I like it when you call me 'pet.' Feels warm and lovely. Don't deserve that feeling, though, so have to say I hate it. Do you love me? You've never said."

Robbie's eyes widened. _Great. It takes painkillers to get the man to open up. We'll have the conversation and he'll forget all about it. And we'll be right back where we were._

"Can you show me how to record on this?" Robbie waved James' mobile at the nurse.

"Are you sure you want to?"

Robbie sighed. "It's for him, later. Just—how?"

The nurse showed him and then found something to do at the other end of the operating table.

Robbie bent close to James' head.

"You look ridiculous in that cap," James said gaily, slurring his words.

"I have something important to tell you, pet, before our boy is born."

**+++**

**The birth changed in a heartbeat.**

**+++**

Robbie had seen the dead stretched out on a slab. Knew the color of a corpse. Knew that the amount of blood gushing from James' incision was wrong and terrible and so very, very red even before the monitor began its awful squeal.

The surgical nurse turned it off without being asked in a sudden flurry of activity. There was a hushed request for plasma.

Glancing over the surgical barrier, his eyes grew wide. Things were moving very quickly.

"Mr. Lewis. Are you going to faint or be ill?" A nurse met his gaze directly, as if judging for herself whether he was fit to stay.

He leaned protectively over James. He closed his eyes, hoping that the last words James heard were those he recorded on the man's mobile and not the curse he uttered as he fumbled around with it.

There was a snick of packages being opened, the clatter of clamps and equipment being laid out on the sterile field. Each instrument counted, each additional sponge inventoried. The competent click of utensils, the body a banquet for opportunistic infection.

Whispers of 'suction' and gurgling.

Robbie's hand was sweating as he held James' hand. "His hand is cold."

"Get him out of here," grumbled the doctor.

Robbie shook his head slightly. They'd have to drag him out. Someone turned off the music they'd chosen for the birth. Ten minutes ago he was going to be a father. Ten minutes ago he had said he loved James and the man hadn't even heard it yet—recorded on a bloody mobile!

Murmurs of medication instructions, the charting nurse making a quick calculation and notation writing directly on the white cloth sheet covering James.

 _He likes a nice blanket. Too bloody cold in here. Hand's gone all blue. Aw, Christ, Christ._ "He's shivering," Robbie said, hoping someone would hear. He repeated the words. Wondered if he was the one shivering.

"Aspirated meconium," the pediatrician said quietly to the obstetrician, whisking something blue and slimy from the operating table to the warming unit. Nurses closed in around him, as if there would be salvation in numbers.

There was no talk of cutting the cord. No moment of tender bonding. Nothing.

No sound of a baby's cry.

Just the sound of a pump, a gurgle, suction. The nurse tapping on the IV lines.

Impersonal, mechanical.

Robbie' heart clenched. He had a sudden fear, a sudden hope, that if James was dead, and if the baby was dead, that he'd die too.

The edges of his vision seemed to darken as he watched the sweep of the second hand on the wall clock. Twenty. Thirty. Forty.

A thready cry, feeble and forlorn. _Finally._ It sounded at such odds with the huge lump being thrust at him. "We're taking him to the neonatal unit for observation." He barely had a glimpse as the infant was swept from the room in a clear bassinet accompanied by hushed voices and somber faces.

Happening too fast, all of it, as if every dream of the last nine months was in freefall, impact imminent.

Robbie could not bear to look over the barrier. He said he'd watch over the man, said he'd protect him, said he'd be there. _Not like this, though, not bloody well like this._ He leaned close. Rested his forehead against James' forehead, willing him to open his eyes, speak, anything.

The doctor stepped back from the table, speaking quietly with the nurse and anesthesiologist. He left the room abruptly.

Robbie' heart filled, fluttered, hesitating. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Could only mean--

"We'll meet you in recovery," said one of the nurses. "About ten minutes to finish up in here."

Robbie stared. "Recovery?"

The nurse nodded, indicated the door. "He's fine. You can let go of his hand now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Possible triggers:**  
>  Trial of labor for scheduled C-section, back labor, graphic description of C-section and operating room, fear of partner/infant death, anesthesia, meconium staining/aspirated meconium, neonatal unit. 
> 
> That being said, there's a fair bit of humor and hurt/comfort in labor. And it doesn't get too tense and emotional until you read the words: "The birth changed in a heartbeat" which is where the C-section begins about mid-way through. 
> 
> Dryad suggested this great website for pregnancy and fertility issues: www.stirrup-queens.com.


	9. Beyond Birth And Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heartfelt thanks to Dryad and Atropos_lee for beta-reading and Brit-pick!

**Beyond the Birth**

**Congratulations on the birth of YOU! In some births, a doula or midwife is able to minimize bruising and the need for stitches. If not, once you've been stitched up, you'll be taken to a recovery area with your ice packs.**

**If you've had a C-section, after your time in recovery, you'll be taken to your room where you can spend more time—recovering! Take advantage of these moments to regroup and have a relaxing nap. Your vital signs will be monitored every fifteen minutes.**

**If your clone is spending time in the neonatal care unit, you won't be able to see your clone until you are able to pass urine. So drink plenty of water so that you can go see YOU!**

"Worst Christmas ever. No dinner. No presents." James continued to slur his words as he came out of the anesthesia.

"Baby. Best Christmas ever. Our boy's fine. You're fine. Thank God."

"Not in a manger."

Robbie chuckled. "Jesus Christ."

"Same birthday. Don’t blaspheme. Coincidence."

"James, love, it’s Boxing Day."

James shuddered, cold. He was struggling to stay awake. “Did I turn off the oven?”

Robbie tucked several blankets, warmed to help with recovery, closer to James neck. "You did. It was a lovely dinner." _No use upsetting the man over a dinner that never happened._ Jean and Laura had been by to toss the bird sitting thawed in the sink. Monty had made a bit of an attempt to get through the plastic wrap.

Robbie put his palm on James' chest, feeling a strong heartbeat as the man dozed. _Good._ The automatic blood pressure cuff inflated; the monitors seemed to agree with his inexpert assessment.

The recovery nurse placed a comforting hand on Robbie's shoulder. "Do you want to see the baby?"

"I do. But I don't want him waking up without me being with him."

The nurse explained they'd be moving James, settling him in a room. It would take a good twenty minutes. They gave Robbie a pager, entering the pager number into his mobile. His mobile and James went down the corridor one way, and he went with the nurse down the other.

The neonatal unit was noisy: infant cries, parent voices, ventilators, beeping alarms. He was directed to wash his hands before being given a fresh gown, mask, and cap. They sat him in a wooden rocking chair that creaked when he shifted his weight—the arm on the rocker felt like it would give way. He was wondering if he should move when they put the baby in his arms.

"Are you sure?" This baby didn't look like James at all. The nurse showed him the baby anklet: _Baby Hathaway._

"Nine pound, thirteen. Twenty one inches. Big boy. Gonna be tall. Decided on a name yet?"

"No." _Bloody hell, the kid was huge. They'd be returning all those small size sleep suits._ "His dad's tall." The baby didn't look much like James anymore. Chubby cheeks, for one thing. Oh, but that was his nose. The long face. Perfect mouth. He took a good sniff—he didn't smell right, smelled of hospital soap. The one thing he remembered vividly was the way his children had smelled after a bath when they were babies. Precious and new. He smiled to himself, remembering how he had changed Mark the first time and the lad peed in this beautiful arc all over the changing table. Val laughing, her eyes full of love for them both. He swallowed a lump in his throat. "Why's he in here?"

"Couldn't wait to have his first BM. He'll have to stay here for a day or two. The information's already been sent to your phone. And accessed too, apparently."

"James is awake?" Robbie struggled to sit up without using the arm of the rocker.

The nurse smiled tolerantly and took the baby. "Down the hall. See you both later."

+++

"Sorry, James," Robbie said, rounding the corner into the room. "I was—"

"How is he?" The head of the bed was raised slightly. James held the mobile at an awkward angle, propped up with pillows on his back and sides. He looked exhausted and still a bit bleary eyed.

"How are you, pet?" Robbie edged onto the bed and put a palm to his cheek. He leaned forward and kissed him. They sat there, foreheads touching, hands cupping faces. Smiling in relief. 

"Numb. Emotional." James drew back, his hand holding Robbie's. "Haven't seen him yet."

"He's a big, beautiful boy." Robbie kissed him again.

James looked stricken. His eyes teared up. "They won't let me get up to see him. I have to pee first. Can you imagine? Last two months—and now I can't."

The bedside table had a small plastic pitcher and a cup of ice with a straw in it. Robbie added ice water to the cup and handed it to him, keeping his hand ready to catch it as James seemed unsteady. "I wanted to be here when you woke up."

"I know." James sighed. He handed back the cup and ground the heels of his hands into his eyes. "After we punched in the pager number, it was the first thing we heard. How you wanted to wake up beside me every day for the rest of our lives, how much you loved me. How you wanted to make it up to me for not indulging every dark sexual urge I had for the last few months. Yeah, that was special, that list. Had no idea you were taking notes."

Robbie shrugged, wondering for a moment why James looked a little put out rather than elated. "You weren't alone when you played it back."

James raised his eyebrows.

"Had to say my piece before you went under the knife. You asked if I loved you, of all things. Thought you knew."

James nodded, biting his lower lip, the corners of his mouth curling up. "Wish you could have heard the exclamation of surprise from the audience."

Robbie sat on the edge of the bed, taking his hand. "Hospital staff. They hear things like that all the time."

"He's not in the nursery, James," said Jean Innocent, coming into the room. She stopped. And blushed.

"Jean came by while you were in the nursery." James said, cocking his head. "Helped me with your mobile," he added unnecessarily. 

+++++++

**Coming Home**

**Now that YOU are home, you'll want to purchase our other books: What to Expect During the First Year with Your Clone, What to Expect During the Second year with Your Clone, What to Feed Your Clone, You and Your Expectations, Life's a Circus: Send in the Clones. **

His son's eyes were a deep, perfect blue. He had imagined that looking at his clone's eyes would be like looking into a mirror. It wasn't. No pain or sorrow. The baby's eyes were deep, still pools. Clear. Pure.

He could spend—had spent, if he was honest—hours staring at the boy. Their boy.

He inhaled deeply, enchanted by the smell of his son: wisp of lavender overlaid with baby powder and infant shampoo, cradling the small perfect head in his hand. Odd that his son weighed so little compared to the weight of responsibility he experienced while holding him. The tenderness he felt moved him to tears. He raised a shoulder awkwardly, wiping his cheek against the fabric of his t-shirt.

Their son rarely cried—the ideal baby. Everyone said so. He was often quietly awake, alert. Almost serious.

Robbie said smiles would come. The baby wasn't even a month old yet. And so few things bothered their son. He took everything in with equanimity. Didn't cry during his baptism. Didn't fuss while being changed. He was a good baby. But it bothered James. Had he been a serious baby? No one to ask.

Such a serious little face. And all James wished was for their son to be happy.

He sighed, snuggling the warm bundle. The Oxford bells began to toll the midnight hour.

His clone smiled.

It was a tiny smile, just the corners of his mouth curling up.

James swallowed a sob.

"Pet?" Robbie yawned, nestled against his side in their bed. "You want me to get our boy and heat a bottle?"

James hummed in the negative, quirking a faint smile as the loves of his life went back to sleep. He cuddled their son for a few minutes more before laying the baby in the bassinet beside their bed. _I'm happy,_ he marveled. _Content._ He slid his arm beneath Robbie's head and pressed his front to Robbie's back, a reversal of their sleeping pattern of the last seven months. The spoon on the outside.

James once said the only thing he loved were the bells of Oxford. As he contemplated his future with his son and Robbie at his side, he realized this was no longer true. In the quiet of their room he could hear Great Tom leading the bells of Oxford tolling the hours he would no longer spend alone.

++++

**EPILOGUE – Almost three years later**

"Are you going to be a big brother?" The older woman smiled kindly.

The little tow haired boy scrambled up onto the hospital waiting room chair. He tucked himself against the armrest alongside the dark haired woman who was reading from a smart tablet. He nodded. "Not allowed to talk to strangers. Aunt Jean says."

The dark haired woman—Aunt Jean—gave an imperceptible nod.

"I used to tell my daughter the same thing when she was your age." The older woman sighed. "Her daughter is having a baby today too. I'm going to be a great grand mum."

The boy glanced at Aunt Jean.

"My Dad is having Papa's baby." He spoke softly.

The older woman's eyes widened slightly. She smiled warmly. "Why, that's lovely."

He nodded, the tiniest smile to his lips. "My brother will be my best friend, too. Just like Dad and Papa."

Aunt Jean swiped the screen of her smart tablet, smiling slightly; she looked up as a short haired blond woman wearing hospital scrubs entered the waiting room. She put away her smart tablet and rose.

"Hi Aunt Laura," said the little boy. He hopped down from his chair.

"How are they?"

"James and the baby are fine. Easier time of it this go around. Robbie is over the moon." Aunt Laura held out her hand to the little boy. "Shall we go meet your baby brother?" She smiled. Her eyes twinkled. "He looks just like your Papa."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And many thanks to Loves_books who wanted pregnant Hathaway for Christmas. I would not have attempted this if you hadn't asked. :-)


End file.
